Better in my heart and mind.

Though I’ve cultivated a desire to travel, you’ll find me staying in one spot for a long time. Because it takes time to really get to know a place. To blend in. To begin to feel like a native. I’m leery of travelers who are always in a hurry. To get on to the next destination. They don’t know how to fully savor where they are at. I’d rather spend two solid weeks in Prague than to traipse all over Central Europe in that time. I’d be spreading myself far too thin. Another thing. When I mosey about a town, my camera often is tucked away.  I’d rather record what I see and experience in my heart and mind than in a digital camera.—Jim Broede

And now I know better.

I’m stimulated. Merely by being in Sardinia. It’s the land of enchantment. Like living in a fairy tale. Maybe I’d feel the same way in Prague or Budapest or Vienna. Actually, there’s no doubt. I’d be stimulated. Mentally. Emotionally. Soulfully. I’ve already been to Prague and Vienna. Not Budapest yet. Cities with rich histories. I’d be in the modern world. But stepping into the past, too. I want to visit Timbuktu. But it’s not as high on my priority list as European cities. Especially since these are troubled times in Timbuktu. I’ll wait until things get more settled. There’s only one place on Earth that I consciously avoid. Texas. I’ve been there. I don’t like the state. Wouldn’t bother me if Texas seceded from the union. I wouldn’t miss it. Can’t say it’s any one thing I hate about Texas. Maybe it’s mostly the conservative politic. And the home of George Bush. To tell the truth, I’m not especially enamored with Louisiana, Mississippi and Alabama either. Wouldn’t go out of my way to visit those states. I have. And now I know better. –Jim Broede

Sounds like an interesting gal.

Moira Orfei. Think she’s still living. Though can’t be sure. She had a stroke four years ago. And she’d be 81. She’s the queen of the Italian circus. Founded Orfei Circus in 1960. Not only that, she performed as a rider, a trapeze artist, acrobat, domintrice of elephants and a trainer of doves. Cultivated a garish image. With an eccentric and exuberant personality. Used heavy make-up with eyes coated with eyeliner. Bright lipstick. An accentuated mole above the lip. Hair tied in a turban. Moira became one of the most recognized faces in Italy. I researched all this. On the Internet. Because the Orfei Circus is in town. And I’m a curious guy. I’d like to meet Moira. Sounds like an interesting gal. –Jim Broede

Some days, I can't stop laughing.

I tell people they aren’t  as good as they could be. Because of their attitude. Of course, I don’t know that for sure. I’m merely speculating. But that annoys some. Because they think they’re darn good at their job. Whether it be as a teacher, a writer, a plumber or a candle maker. Thing is, some hate their jobs. Or at least have misgivings about the professions they’ve chosen. They don’t have their heart and soul into what they are doing. Therefore, that makes them less than what they could be. Not necessarily very good at what they’re doing. Maybe incompetent. Some don’t like to hear it. Especially from me. Because I can come across as arrogant. Like I know it all. Really when I’m as stupid as the next guy. But I put on airs. As if I’m as intelligent as Einstein.  Like to do that. To be funny. But hey, not everyone sees me as funny. At least, they don’t laugh. I suspect those are grimaces. Not smiles. But that makes me laugh even more. Some days, I can’t stop laughing. –Jim Broede

I'm in love with solitude, too.

Another one of my compulsions. Have to get up. In the middle of the night. To write. Not even knowing what I wanna write. This time. At 3:30 in the morning. Sneaking out of bed quietly. Not to wake my Italian true love. Maybe it’s that I like  solitude. When much of the world around me is asleep. Unconscious. That’s when I become most conscious. It’s as if there’s only so much consciousness to go around. It has to be shared by everyone. Portioned out. And I get the biggest share when others around me are asleep. Another writer friend observed the other day that we are born into solitude. From womb to tomb. We are really alone. But we mask our aloneness with friends. In essence, we pretend we aren’t alone. When really, we are. But I find that solitude/aloneness ain’t all that bad. I’m not the least  bit lonely. Maybe it’s that I’m in love. With life. And that includes solitude. –Jim Broede

I'm addicted to being silly.

I have compulsions. Sudden urges. Things I have to do. Such as acting silly. To bring levity into the moment. To turn a serious conversation into something funny. To be able to laugh at people trying to be serious. Maybe too serious. That especially goes when I’m with my Italian true love. Maybe not so surprising. Because I’m with her most of the time. Even when we’re not together. In body. I’m still with her in spirit. But that’s another matter. For now, I’m talking/writing about my compulsion to be silly. Sometimes, I’m the one that’s being too serious. Other times, it’s my true love. Maybe that’s the danger of human interactions. Taking each other too seriously. And worst of all, taking ourselves too seriously. Not seeing the humor in our situation. In our relationship. I’ve learned to laugh. Every day. Because I have to. I’m compelled. I’m addicted to being silly. Not always. But certainly for a goodly part of the day and night. –Jim Broede

I ain't so dumb either.

Ah, Sardinian spring has arrived. Not that winter was winter. Because I’m from Minnesota. So from my perspective, Sardinia doesn’t ever have a real winter. It’s more like eternal spring in November, December and January. Never a freezing temperature. Never snow. Therefore, what’s now being called spring is beginning to feel a little like summer. For me. I’m able to walk sleeveless. Though Sardinians think I’m crazy. They still wear coats and and sweaters. Even Eskimo apparel. Despite temperatures in the 60s and lower 70s. My Italian true love tells me to not get overconfident. That we could still get real cold. By that, she means in the 40s and 50s. My gawd. She doesn’t know real cold. She’s never spent winter in Minnesota. She’s a smart cookie. She comes for the summer. And knows when it’s best to flee back to Sardinia. I ain’t so dumb either. I won’t return to Minnesota until April. Even though there’ll still be a risk of snow. –Jim Broede