Celebrating. The here and now.

So easy. To become spoiled. By always demanding more out of life. Rather than stopping to savor what one already has. Life itself, for instance. Already, I’ve qualified as a survivor. Physically speaking.  An octogenarian. With a mind intact, too. I’ve beat the odds. My next door neighbor. Died last week. Age 68. After a lingering illness. Meanwhile, I keep beating the odds. By outliving many of my cohorts. I went to the funeral. Not to lament or grieve. But to rejoice.  Over the fact that I’m still alive. I’d not want to trade places with my neighbor. Don’t ever want to quit living. Much rather get on with life. Though I get annoyed. Over trivial stuff. Like I say. I’m spoiled. Wanting my Chicago Cubs to win another baseball game. Solely. So that I feel good. It helps me. Psychologically. If my selfish and trivial desires are realized. It’s not enough that the Cubs won the world series two years ago.  I want a repeat performance. This year. Rather than settling for the lingering euphoria from the past. Like I say. Please. Please. Let me be spoiled silly. More of everything. More of the so-called good life. Oddly, I don’t require a whole lot of money or material possessions. Preferring psychological victories. Events going my way. Enough to keep me reasonably happy. For everything to fall onto place. In neat order. On any given day. Knowing. Knowing that I’ve lived a spoiled life. With time to appreciate. That I have the option. To celebrate. My presence. In the here and now. --Jim Broede