Mission accomplished.

The woman. In the nursing home. Wanted her mother. But I didn’t have the heart to tell her that mother was long dead.  Instead, I entered the woman’s world. In which her mother was still alive.  So I told her. Your mother is out. Shopping for a gift. For you. She wants to surprise you. Now relax. Take your afternoon nap. So that you are rested. When you awake, mother will be here. The dementia patient won’t remember. But still, I’m giving her a pleasant moment. A reason to feel soothed. About the upcoming visit. She falls asleep. With a smile.  Mission accomplished. --Jim Broede

I think she trusts me.

Maybe I’ve opened Pandora’s Box. By walking my neighbor’s two Siberian Huskies. Polly and Stinky. They are so appreciative of the exercise. Up to several miles some days. They seem to have fallen in love. Either with the exercise. Or with me. Maybe both. They know that I’m intervening. To see to it. That their insatiable appetite for exercise. Gets fed. When they see me coming, they howl. With delight.  Seems to me they are speaking. Something equivalent to, ‘We love you, Jimmy Boy.’  Satisfies my ego. Nice to be loved. I love ‘em, too. Thing is. The other night. When I returned Stinky to her relatively small compound. She didn’t want to stay. She wanted more exercise. More freedom  More of me, too. She dared endure the shock. The jolt. From an electronic invisible fence. To dart away.  Her owner and I went in quick pursuit. She was having a rollicking good time. Didn’t want to be caught. She was born to run. To run. To run some more. Being her true self. Anyway, we followed. In sometimes slow and tired pursuit. Cajoling Stinky. To come. She ignored her beleaguered owner’s pleas. But then, I finally went to the ground.  On bended knees. ‘Come to me, Stinky,’ I chanted. “Come to me. Come to me. Come to me.’ Stinky came. Into my open arms. For a loving hug. Thanking me. For being her true friend. Now I have to convince her. To stay home. When I leave.  I promise. I’ll be back. Trust me. Trust me. Trust me. I think she does. –Jim Broede

A difficult task, indeed.

I’m happy. No matter where I’m living. Because I adjust. To the environs and the situation.. Whether it be in Sardinia or Minnesota or Timbuktu. I could even adjust to living in Texas or Oklahoma. Probably by going underground. Hiding out. I’d probably have done the same in Nazi Germany. And waited for the turbulence to blow over. Of course, if I had been a Jew, waiting for better times might not have been good enough.  Another thing. If my life were in peril, because of my beliefs, I’d learn to keep my mouth shut. A difficult task, indeed. --Jim

So much better. To be spiritual.

I’m confused. About religions. And the rules by which many of the devout live. Like an eye for an eye. A life for a life. Means a thief might have his hand cut off. Or a killer literally lose his head. That’s one of many reasons why I steer clear of organized religions. Many religions find war justifiable. They kill as if ordered by their deity. They even become terrorists. In the name of their religion. And some religions have the gall to proselytize. To knock on my door. To make me see their light. When really, they seem to be peddling a darker side of life. But I don’t become too annoyed. Instead, I see an opportunity. To help them see my light. As a spiritual free-thinker. So much better. To be spiritual. Rather than religious. –Jim Broede

I'm confused. About the value of life.

Executions. I’ve never understood the need to execute anyone. Even for the most heinous crimes. But in America, we execute people virtually every day. It’s been done in different ways. For a while, the favorite method was electrocution. Strapping people in an electric chair. It was supposed to be a quick death. More or less painless. But I never believed that. Left the dead with eyes that popped out. Or with their head set ablaze. Permeated the execution chamber with the nasty and sickening smell of burnt flesh. Finally, we Americans decided it’s more humane to die by lethal injection. But even then, it’s easy to botch things. This week, in Oklahoma, it took a prisoner 43 minutes to die. As he writhe in torturous pain. It’s been  shown, too,  that some innocent people were executed. But still, that’s insignificant  to some staunch advocates of capital punishment. They say it’s reasonable. To expect a few mistakes. I don’t get it. Or maybe I do. Because state-sanctioned murder sounds shameful. Barbaric. Uncivilized.  Another thing. In America, just happens that most of the executed are black or other minorities. And poor, too. That’s the way the justice system works. The rich are better able to manipulate. And save their asses. Leaves me confused. About the value of life. Is a rich ass really worth more than a poor one? –Jim Broede

Don't like doctors in white coats.

I have the white coat syndrome. It’s impossible for me to go to a doctor. And get a decent blood pressure reading. Initially, at least. Because I get uptight. The moment that cuff is wrapped around my arm. I feel a surge of adrenaline. It’s as if I’m scared.  Suffering from a phobia. When I return home, my BP is normal. Or even low normal. I measure my BP regularly. Under a variety of circumstances. Therefore, I know  it’s normal. Generally speaking. Of course elevated blood pressure is normal. Under a variety of circumstances. When exercising. And in moments of tension and stress.  Which often applies when I’m visiting a doctor. I don’t like most doctors. Because they don’t have the time. To deal with me properly. They are mostly in a hurry. And some of ‘em put too much credence to BP readings. In the office setting. I want to go to a doctor knowing that my BP won’t be taken. Unless it’s a paramount diagnostic tool.  For gauging what’s wrong with me. At the moment.  Otherwise, forget it. I don’t want to be over-examined. Over-tested. Furthermore, I want my health care to be a team effort. Between me and my doctor. I’m the one that decides. Whether or not that dreaded cuff is to be wrapped around my trembling arm. I don’t want to be reminded. That I have the white coat syndrome. It’s no more than an invalid reason to find something wrong with me.  Just for the hell of it. Instead, I prefer finding something wrong with the doctor. For wearing a white coat. Any other color would be better. –Jim Broede

The power of one's mind.

Many of my fellow Minnesotans. They’re complaining. About the weather. Haven’t seen the sun for 10 days, and counting. For a while, it all seemed so strange. After all, I had observed the sun. Daily. Without a single miss.  But then. I realized. I’m blessed. With my Italian true love. She’s my sunshine. Doesn’t matter if the skies are gray. I have sunshine. Morning. Noon. Night. Amazing. The power of one’s mind. In love. –Jim Broede