The substantial zombie-vote.

Voting. I’ll do it. Today. Because I’d rather have a Democratic senator and governor. Than a Republican. But I’m not an enthusiastic voter. Never have participated in an election yet. Where my single vote made a difference. The results would have been no different. If I had stayed home. Makes me wonder. If nobody showed up at the polls on election day. A boycott. Or voter apathy. For the hell of it, I wouldn’t mind if Americans were required to vote. They do it in Australia. Don’t vote, and you get fined. It’s only a misdemeanor. Ought to be a felony. Of course, that means multitudes of poorly informed voters turn out. But that happens now. In America. Zombies are allowed to vote. Little wonder that Republicans keep winning some elections. They’ve lured the substantial zombie-vote. –Jim Broede

My favorite little idyllic niche.

I live in idyllic little niches. Isolated from the rest of the world. Away from the hustle and bustle. I do that. To avoid turmoil. In order to survive. And to be happy.  By doing pretty much as I please. I’m retired. Which means I don’t have to work. I’ve become a gentleman of leisure. For many years, I was a writer. For newspapers. Now, I write far more than when gainfully employed. But it feels different. Because I have no bosses. No editors. To put it another way. I’m my own boss, my own editor. Free. Independent. Another thing. I’m a lover. A dreamer, too. Because I choose to be. Comes naturally. Anyway, by the time December rolls around, I’ll flee Minnesota. And be off. To paradise. Sardinia, the second largest island in the Mediterranean Sea. Living with my Italian true love. For the winter. Yes, living. Life the way it should be lived. In my favorite little idyllic niche. –Jim Broede

The coming of fairness.

Can’t prove it. But I suspect. That Obama achieved far less than he expected. As president. Because he’s black. Had he been white. His agenda would have been much better received.  Obama has opponents. Mostly Republicans. Who look on him with disdain. Solely because he’s black. No, they won’t admit it. They don’t want to be tagged racist. Better to hide racism. If one can. White racists are somewhat shameful of it. Which is a good thing. But others don’t feel the least bit of shame. They believe in white supremacy. Meanwhile, the white power structure frets. More and more. As America becomes less and less white. White will soon be the minority. Hallelujah! It’s about time. Yes, time for adjustment. Time for power sharing. A racial mix is wonderful. So is the ebbing of white power. Of course, that scares the white racist element. They’ve already swung into action. Looking for devious ways to retain power. But change will come. Even if it takes a revolution. White power is on the wane. And as a white man, I’m celebrating. The coming of fairness. –Jim Broede

My gullible neighbor.

My politically conservative neighbor believes some strange tales. I told her. With a straight face. That I trained a dog. To poop daily in a certain neighbor’s yard.  Because he happens to be my political opponent –a zany conservative Republican. Turns out the neighbor believed my tongue-in-cheek story. Figuring I’d actually do something like that. ‘I’m joking,’ I declared. ‘I’m joking.’ Still, she doubted me. Knowing I’m the mischievous sort. An untrustworthy liberal and socialist sympathizer, too. Gets me little respect in my staunchly Republican neighborhood. Meanwhile, I’m wondering. If my neighbor believes that Obama is a secret Muslim. Born in Kenya.  Strange, isn’t it?  The gullibility of some conservative political zealots. –Jim Broede

No longer cursed.

Being born. Coming alive.  Once upon a time, I considered that a curse. Having learned. That some day I was destined to die. That was a big concern.  Because I wanted to live. Forever.  And it pissed me off. That I wouldn’t be granted my fervent wish.  Maybe it would have been better if I hadn’t been born. Then I wouldn’t have to fret about dying. Indeed, that’s a funny perspective. On life. Better to not have lived. But I’ve changed my mind. By falling in love. With life. Even if life doesn’t last forever. Even if. After death. There is absolute nothingness. Maybe it’s that I’ve learned to live one day at a time.  To cherish now. To savor the moment. Not to get ahead of myself. Not to worry about tomorrow. In the process, I’ve become a romantic idealist. A free-thinker, too. That’s good. When it comes to spiritual matters, I simply believe what I want to believe.  No proof necessary. Scientific, or otherwise. I hereby declare unequivocal belief in an afterlife. Makes me feel blessed and happy. No longer cursed. –Jim Broede

Good enough. For now.

I’m in love. With life. And with my Italian true love. But not with politicians. Nor with my homeland, the United States of America. Don’t know what that makes me. Maybe a little picky and choosey. And unpatriotic. Thing is. I can be in love. Without having to be in love with everything. It’s good enough that I can pursue love. And happiness. In my own inimitable way. Without having to love politicians and my country. I believe in honesty. Therefore, I admit that there are some things beyond the reach of my love. Of course, I keep an open mind. And some day I may learn to genuinely love America. But as for politicians – no way. Meanwhile, I’ll love life and my dear sweetheart. Yes, that’s good enough. For now. –Jim Broede

P.S. I like many things about America. But it ain't a love affair.

Is there a reason? For anything.

My place in the universe. Billions of galaxies.  Billions of suns. Imagine the endless possibilities of solar systems. Of Earth-like planets. Fascinating stuff. Here I am. In something  called the Milky Way galaxy. How have we figured this out? That it would take over 50,000 years, traveling at the speed of light (186,000 miles per second) to cut across our galaxy.  And here I am. Trying to grasp the significance of it all. In love. With life. Maybe that’s it. Makes me wonder. How did all this wonderful creation happen? And why am I here? At this moment. Is there a reason? For anything.  --Jim Broede