Mesmerized. Within the moment.

How many of you live interesting lives? So that. Almost every day. You are captivated. By an event. Or a thought.  If not. What are you missing? Look around. There must be something. That you’ve overlooked. I just glanced out a window. And spotted a rickety old wagon wheel. Leaning against a tree. With half of the wooden spokes missing. Could be. That the wheel dates back to the early 20^th century. Maybe even the 19^th.  I picked it up. Decades ago. At a farm auction. Quite possibly. I hadn’t noticed the wheel. For years. Now I see it. As a work of art. A thing of beauty. Years ago. I would have fetched a camera. To record the scene. But today. I chose to be mesmerized. Within the moment. --Jim Broede

Life ain't boring. That's for sure.

I’d lead a humdrum life. If not for my imagination. I can go anywhere. Do almost anything. Simply by imagining it. Of course, I can be accused of escaping reality. By unimaginative cohorts. But hey. They don’t know better. That’s their problem. Not mine. Hardly a day goes by. When I don’t live imaginatively. In positive and fruitful and productive ways. I get up in the morning. Not yet knowing. What imaginative adventure awaits. But always. I know. With certainty. That life won’t be boring. --Jim Broede

Easier than shoveling snow.

Yesterday. I spent most of the day. On my roof. Removing snow. With a shovel. Thought the snow was getting too deep. Besides. I needed an upper body workout. I’m lazy that way. Generally. I walk. Up to 10 miles a day. My legs are in good shape. It’s my arms and shoulders. That get neglected.  I’m thankful. For all the snow. That we’ve had in the past two weeks. Giving me opportunity. To shovel the driveway, sidewalks, back porch, decks and boardwalks. Normally, I leave the roof.  For Mother Nature to clear. She does a brilliant job. On sunny days. But occasionally. She needs an assist. And I’m more than ready to oblige. It’s a thrill. Standing knee deep in snow.  A privilege, really. Because I’m addicted. To exercise. That’s my fix. Especially when I stay in perpetual motion. In an easy rhythm. A form of dance. Yes. Yes. My roof became a dance floor. For a waltz. And best of all. A tango. With Mother Nature as my partner. Easier than shoveling snow. --Jim Broede

A world of no compromise.

It’s virtually impossible. To change some minds. I hate to admit it. Yes, a waste of time. To even try. Fortunately, it doesn’t always matter. The world still functions. Nobody is harmed. But sometimes, it does matter. When people feel they have a right to bear firearms. Including machine guns. I’d ban certain weapons. And require extensive background checks. Before any purchase. I’m not going to change my mind. On this controversial issue. And the same goes for others. On the other side. Strong supporters of the Second Amendment. Face it. We live in a world of no compromise. Therefore, we are bound to have winners and losers. Based on who’s in political power.  --Jim Broede

A free spirit, am I.

There’s a common bond. Linking everything and everyone meaningful in my life. Yes. Yes. A spiritual connection. Going far beyond the physical. I’ve come to know this. Starting in my late 20s and early 30s. About the same time. That I began truly falling in love. With life. And declared myself a romantic idealist, a spiritual free-thinker and a political liberal. Finally. I had learned. That I am a spiritual being. Over and above the physical. Life was becoming meaningful. In a spiritual way. Not religious. But spiritual. There’s a difference. Religion is too narrow.  Too restricting. I crave and need the freedom of the spiritual dimension. --Jim Broede

My 'drug' of choice.

The surest sign of spring. It’s here. Spring training. Doesn’t matter that we’ve had a foot of snow. The Chicago Cubs have already played two exhibition games. Albeit, in Arizona. Where weather conditions are tolerable. For playing baseball.  My gosh. The season opener is barely a month away. I can start counting the days. Before I’m hooked again. In need of my daily fix.  Why is it? That baseball is my ‘drug’ of choice. --Jim Broede

Of being incurably crazy.

I’ve discovered a new mental disorder. One that compels the afflicted. To think only happy thoughts. The kind of stuff that puts one at ease. In a good and positive mood. Finding it impossible. To lapse into melancholia. No matter how hard one tries. One can’t shake this pleasant feeling. Even if one goes in for treatment. And consults the finest psychotherapists in the world. There’s no cure. One must learn to live happily ever after. With a diagnosis. Of being incurably crazy. --Jim Broede

Finally, a purpose.

Care-giving was one of the best and most rewarding pursuits of my life.  Didn’t always know it. When going through it. But now there’s no doubt. It truly got me outside of myself. Got me answering a calling. For which I was destined.  Gave me a true significant and meaningful purpose. For the first time.  --Jim Broede

Our salvation.

Those teenagers. In Parkland (Florida). I’m impressed. So articulate. So passionate. Wouldn’t mind seeing them run the country. You know, they will. Some day. Makes me an optimist. About the future. They’ve ignited a cause. A contagion. About to spread. Across the nation. Time for the rest of us. To follow their lead. Time to start acting more like those wonderfully awesome teenagers. Yes. Yes. They will be our salvation. From the corrupt politics of the day. --Jim Broede

A solitary individual.

Not sure that I want to be part of the real world. Maybe I’d be better off. In a pretend world. My own creation. My own inner sanctum. Making it all up. Like a fairy tale. That’s what I do. Now. To an extent. Using my ability. To think. And to write. All at the same time. Allowing me to shape things. To my heart’s desire. With my free-wheeling imagination. I’ve been doing it for a long, long time. From the first day. That I became fully conscious. The amazing moment. When I became aware of my existence. A solitary individual.  Separate from the rest of the world. If I so choose. --Jim Broede

Inside my gut.

I’ve been feeling uninspired lately. It happens occasionally. Usually lasting for only a few days.  I’d like to not even admit. That I’m ever uninspired. But hey. Let the truth be known. I’m only human. Full of flaws and foibles. One can remain inspired. For only so long. But one thing’s for sure. I never stop looking. For inspiration. Sometimes I find it. Inside my gut. --Jim Broede

Makes me wonder.

My brother was an atheist. A good guy, too. Kindly. Compassionate. Trustworthy. I’ve evolved. In a significant different direction. As a non-denominational spiritual free-thinker. I believe in a creator. Not in the exact same way as members of some conservative organized religions. I’ve been occasionally called an atheist. Doesn’t faze me. After all, I know better. With certainty. I have direct conversations. With my creator. He’s just as kind and compassionate as my dear brother. Who’s no longer residing on Planet Earth. He’s up there. Somewhere. A free spirit. Roaming the cosmos. Yes, Bruce, now has reason to believe. In the afterlife.  He’s living it. It’s up to him. To decide whether this is courtesy of a creator. For all I know, he may still be a confirmed atheist. He’s stubborn that way. Majored in philosophy. At the University of Wisconsin. Meanwhile, I went to a small liberal arts college. With Evangelical ties. And a seminary on the same campus. I had a double major. English and History. Indeed, an experience quite different. Than that of my brother. Makes me wonder. If we had traded our life experiences. Would I have been more like my brother? And my brother more like me? Gives me something to think about. And to discuss. Next time. With my creator. --Jim Broede

The peril of abstract thought.

My consciousness. My stream of thought. My awareness. Erupts. From my life experience. Or so I assume. I’d probably be quite different.  Perhaps unrecognizable. From who and what I am today. If I had been raised. In a different culture. In a different place. Causing me to wonder. How the essence of my being. Comes about. Perhaps I was born. With a clean slate. With a blank soul. And given the opportunity. To create my own soul. Letting it evolve. Naturally. In reaction. To the events in my convoluted life. Yes, that’s the way I choose to think. In the abstract. Thereby leaving everyone thoroughly confused --Jim Broede

Sounds a bit too horrid.

Maybe. Some day. I’ll announce. I have nothing more to say. That I’ve already said it all. So might as well. Clam up. And disappear. Into the vast void. Maybe that’s what I should have done. Right from the start. Kept my mouth shut.  So that I’d have nothing to erase. Perhaps that’s the course taken my most people. They’re never heard from. Just as soon. Not be part of the vocal minority. Blending instead. Into the silent majority. Yes. Imagine that. Sounds a bit too horrid. No longer being a troublemaker. --Jim Broede

Yes, I'm making up.

Thinking today. About how much a cat. Dear Marcello. Adds to my life. What a blessing. He’s a major source of my happiness. Interesting, isn’t it? I grew up. Without any pets. Mother was opposed to pets. Didn’t think we kids. Would tend to a dog. And she’d be the responsible one. Too much work. Too much cleaning up. Anyway, things changed. For me. When I got married. There was never any question about it. Jeanne came with three dogs. Including a very protective German shepherd.  And a blind cocker spaniel. I was hooked. And not long thereafter, daughter Kiki brought home a stray cat. I protested. To no avail. And I became the one that welcomed strays. Dogs and cats. As many as five stray cats at one time. I’m hopelessly in love. With cats. Before Marcello, it was Loverboy. Yes, I’m making up. For what I missed in my youth. Better late than never. --Jim Broede

The creator. On my side.

I’m ‘outrageous.’ Or so I’m told. Because I’m a spiritual free-thinker. And a buddy. Of the creator himself. I talk to him. Regularly. Actual conversations. Apparently, that’s considered blasphemy. By a severe critic. Meanwhile, my creator tells me. ‘Don’t let it bother you.’ I’m following his advice. Good to have him on my side. --Jim Broede

Laughter. A life saver.

Norman Cousins, the political journalist and author, was diagnosed in 1964 with a rare disease. And given only a few months to live. So he decided to die laughing. Watching videos of his favorite comics. He immersed himself in humor, in laughter. On a daily basis. Lo and  behold, Cousins lived for another 26 years. Until 1990.  He later lectured (I attended one, in Arizona) and  claimed that laughter saved his life. No joke. I believe it. Cousins said, ‘Death is not the greatest loss in life. The greatest loss is what dies inside us while we live.’ --Jim Broede

Being funny. A risky business.

Sure, I poke fun. When maybe I shouldn’t. I like to laugh. At myself. And at others, too. Maybe my biggest mistake. Is poking fun at people. In no mood to laugh. I catch them at the wrong time. Or their sense of humor. Doesn’t jibe with mine. Humor is a funny thing. Especially when aimed at serious people at serious times. At a funeral, for instance. Sometimes it works. Other times it doesn’t. In a roomful of people, if I get up on stage, and start telling jokes. Some will laugh. Others might jeer. Or look at me with scorn. It’s risky business. Exploiting the funny side of life. --Jim Broede

My new way of counting.

Wish I hadn’t learned to count. Especially the years. Because counting. Is a reminder. That I’m getting old. Therefore. I have decided to stop counting. That’s easier said than done. Of course, there’s another alternative. To learn to count in reverse.  I’ll practice. On my birthday. Every year: 82, 81, 80, 79, 78. Yes. Yes. I feel it already. In my bones. In my mind. I’m getting younger and younger. --Jim Broede

Not quite there yet.

Don’t know. If it’ll be a blessing. To live into my 90s. Or beyond. I will have lost a step or two or three. Physically. Mentally. Emotionally. Every which way. I look around. That’s the nature of old age. I’m not quite there yet. But I’m not far away. All the more reason. To live fully. For the day. And to pretend. That it’s full. Even if it ain’t. --Jim Broede

Or was it the stage coach?

I’m lost. Because I haven’t kept up with modern times. I haven’t changed enough. Haven’t adapted. I need to be born again. To start over. As an infant. From scratch. So that I can learn. When the mind is best suited for learning. The world has raced by. And left me behind. I should have hopped aboard. But I missed the train. Or was it the stage coach? --Jim Broede

Of a blissful forever.

One can choose. How to occupy one’s mind. But it takes practice. That’s how I stay reasonably happy. Even during difficult times. Such as care-giving. Or the loss of a loved one. I refuse to surrender. To sadness. Even when death do us part. I dwell. On fond memories. And I partake. In other stress-relieving activities. Walking long distances. And communing with nature. Reading a book. With an upbeat theme. Tuning in to a comedy show. Reminding myself. That I’m alive and conscious. Able to grasp the wonders of life. Better that. Than to be overwhelmed by grief. One must resolve. To get on. To find boundless ways. To savor it all. Dreaming. Dreaming. Of a blissful forever. --Jim Broede

Choosing. To feel hurt.

Sometimes, I don’t ask. What is right and proper? I just do. Forge ahead. Instinctively. And not worry. About what is right and proper. As long as I’m not hurting anyone. But then I discover. That I hurt someone. Unintentionally. With words. That’s the danger. Of being free. And forthright. A participant. In life. Some people hurt. Easily. Take offense. Misconstrue. It’s unavoidable. People choose. To feel hurt. Almost over anything. --Jim Broede

Is that good enough?

Sure, life ain’t always fair. That’s my perspective. I could be wrong. Right, too. Occasionally, I try to make life more fair. Maybe by doing a good deed. Helping someone. But mostly, I just talk. A good game. Talking about the common good. And how politicians should do a better job of bringing it about. That ticks off some people. Suggesting that I’m too critical. Of conservatives. No. No. I’m merely expressing an opinion. Knowing full well. That it won’t have significant impact. Won’t change things. For the better. That’s right. No matter how hard I try. I’ll still be jousting at imaginary enemies. The ones I’m supposed to love. And do. In my fertile imagination. Is that good enough? --Jim Broede

My cure-all.

Feeling sorry for one’s self. It’s a waste of time. Better to feel sorry for others. So easy. To find others in far worse circumstances. Than I. Makes me feel lucky. In comparison. That’s one crutch I use. In getting through difficult times. The other crutch. Is to have faith and perseverance. In knowing. Everything gets better. Eventually. At least, it has so far. Sure, sometimes I have to find ways. To get out of physical, mental and emotional turmoil. Using all sorts of tricks. Most people I know. Use religion. Or other forms of spiritual sustenance. I’m for whatever works. For me. It’s the knowledge. That I’m blessed. With being an alive and conscious being. Capable of making the best of life. Merely my falling in love. With someone or something. Yes. Yes. That’s my cure-all. --Jim Broede