Happy with my thoughts.

Living alone ain’t a bad way to live.  Makes for silence. And solitude. Some people may complain that it’s a lonely existence. As if that’s a bad thing. But I find that feeling alone can be good. Of course, I like it when my Italian true love is with me. Either in Minnesota or Sardinia.  But often, it’s good enough just thinking of her. Indeed, a pleasant thought. That can make my day. It isn’t necessary to constantly be with someone to be happy. And contented. I am happy. With my thoughts. –Jim Broede

In so many wonderful ways.

The way I deal with people. There’s no one way. Everyone is an individual. Distinct. Unlike any other. Friends. Acquaintances. Strangers. They’re all different.  Some I know quite well. Others in a more casual manner. Some from afar. Strangers become acquaintances. I form first impressions. With some, I become curious. Wanting to learn more. Others, I simply write off. With hardly any impression.  Maybe never to see again. But there’s always a cast of characters with whom I’m close. And know in rather intimate ways. They are the ones to be treated with great respect. And always as special. True friends. Used to be that I boasted of having no friends. Only acquaintances. But that wasn’t true. I’ve always had friends. Of one sort or another. People I could rely on. And they, in turn, could rely on me.  I’ve also had two true loves. My dear wife Jeanne. Until she died over 7 years ago. Since then, I’ve cultivated my dear sweet Italian true love. Makes me think that I’ve been blessed. With true friends. In so many wonderful ways.   –Jim Broede

Making things right.

I’m not sure if it’s Alzheimer-riddled Ron being put to a test – or the professional care-givers at his new residence. Turns out, Ron has the so-called sundowners effect. Late afternoons. He tends to become a little bit belligerent. Tougher to manage.  Nursing homes tend to respond. With medications. In the past, Ron has been quelled that way. Which I consider a crime. But now Ron is in a five-bed care center called Arthur’s Residence. Where he’s supposed to get more direct personal one-on-one care, and less drugs. The idea is to try to stimulate Ron. In positive ways. Not to put him into a stupor. And placed in front of a TV set. There are far better ways. Ones I’ve experimented with. By engaging Ron. Face to face. Talking to him. In a soft and soothing voice. By touch, too. Making him relax. With a shoulder or foot massage.  Or by taking him for a walk. Or a wheelchair ride. Yes, fresh air stimulation. I’m going to start visiting Ron. At sundowner time. To observe. To see what’s happening.  And if necessary, I’ll intervene. And  demonstrate. How to make things right. –Jim Broede

No heartbreak for me.

I watched a baseball game sporadically tonight. Went into extra innings, and lasted for 6½ hours. Incredibly long. It was a play-off game between San Francisco and Washington – teams that play in the same league as my dear Chicago Cubs. So many tense moments for diehard fans of either team. Anyway, it made me appreciate that the Cubs didn’t make it to the playoffs. If they had been one of those two teams, I’d have been a nervous wreck. And if the Cubs had lost, I’d be in the doldrums. Better that the Washington fans feel bad. They lost a heartbreaker, 2-1, in 18 innings. Of course, it didn’t break my heart. I didn’t care which team won. I just enjoyed the game of baseball, minus the Cubs. No heartbreak for me. --Jim Broede

Having fun deciding what's right.

Doing the right thing. That’s what I’m supposed to do. But what is the right thing? Not an easy question to answer. But I’m asking it. Of myself. Virtually every day. Of course, I could rely on others for the answers. But that’s the easy way out. I’d rather find my own answers. By probing. Deep within. Sometimes I’m right. Other times I’m wrong. But believe me. I’m having fun. Deciding. –Jim Broede

Maybe I tell/care too much.

I have a friend. She occasionally writes to me. Wish she’d write more often. Because I like to hear from her. After all, she’s a dear friend. But I can’t compel her to do anything. Anyway, when she does write, she often starts her letter with a complaint. About what she doesn’t like about me. Something I do. Like what I’m doing now. Writing about her. In a public forum.  Oh, she remains anonymous. Don’t dare use her name. Out of respect. If I wrote a novel, she’d be in it. A variation of her real self. I’d make her into a heroine, of sorts. She might detest me for it. Though maybe not. Because if we are dear and true friends, we’d accept each other. Unconditionally. Even the blemishes. She tells me she doesn’t completely trust me. Because of what I’m doing now. Writing about her. Thing is, I tell her this stuff directly, too. In personal letters. But I don’t stop there. Because I’m a writer, and a former journalist. That’s my way. I write about the meaningful stuff of life. Yes, that I have this dear friend. That sometimes contemplates taking her own life.  She’s an advocate of suicide. Under the right circumstances.  I tell her that I am personally in love with life. And that I’m worried about her. Because she has bouts of depression. She might do it. Some day. Maybe she’s doing it now. In slow and methodical fashion.  Smoking herself to death. I’ve tried to persuade her to stop smoking. For the sake of life. But smoking is one of her pleasures. In a sense, it keeps her out of depression. And alive. Maybe smoking does her more good than harm.  Meanwhile, I’m hopeful that I’m doing my friend far more good than harm. Sometimes, it’s hard to tell.  Maybe I tell/care too much. –Jim Broede

S(no)w reason to panic.

It’s really nice that we have true changes of seasons in Minnesota. With snow expected tonight (Oct. 3). Of course, it won’t accumulate. Nothing to measure. But white flakes in the air make it look like we may be in for a long, long winter. All the more reason for me to be excited about the prospect of fleeing to Sardinia. To be with my Italian true love.  Sooner rather than later. We’ll see. I’m not about to panic.  We are still likely to have some summer-like days. My neighbors tell me it’s unbearably cold. But that’s crazy talk. As long as the temperature stays above freezing – that’s relatively warm.  Still very tolerable. Anyway, it’s nice and cozy and warm. Indoors, at least. I’m happy to be alive. And in Minnesota. That’s good enough for me. --Jim Broede