In my deep, deep sleep.

I have dedicated a great part of my life. To pondering. About the absurdity of life. I do this. Because that is what I was born to do. It’s my creator-given mission. Of course, I also take time off. And try to ponder not at all. To cease thinking. About anything. Maybe that is why I have been blessed with sleep. Moments of unconsciousness. But even then, I can’t fully escape. I lapse Into the consciousness of dreams. Though I can’t always tell that it’s me. Dreaming. It may be someone else. Taking control of my mind.  Sending me a message. That I often don’t understand. Perhaps I was born. To imagine. That I’m living. When really, I’m dead. Yes. Yes. I am blessed by my creator.  Who allows me to imagine. That I am very much alive. Whenever the urge emerges. In my deep, deep sleep. --Jim Broede

A cleansing of the soul.

If I had any sense. I’d settle down. For a few weeks. In a remote corner of the world.  With no access to the rest of world. No TV. No Internet. No newspaper. I’d live alone. In solitude. Yes, an opportunity. To get away from civilization. Away from human contact. Instead, I’d have to commune with the spirits. And with my inner being. My guess. Is that when I returned to civilization again, I’d be refreshed and rejuvenated. Feeling cleansed. Inside and out. --Jim Broede

Blessed. Believe it or not.

Being an Alzheimer care-giver. For 13 years. Was an excruciating experience. Initially.  But given time. It became a satisfying, and even joyful phase of my life. I’m a more empathetic human being for having gone through it. No regrets. I finished my care-giver stint in an upbeat frame of mind. Having discovered the benefits of good vibes therapy. Having learned to emit good vibes in the presence of dear Jeanne. Always. No matter the circumstances. Jeanne responded positively. Even in the late stages of Alzheimer’s. Unfortunately, I observed (at nursing homes) too many care-givers, even some professionals, that inadvertently may have done more harm than good. With bad vibes. With ornery dispositions.  That would have been me. Early on. Until I fell in love. With being a care-giver. Really, it was no longer a job. It was a pastime. To be savored. Cherished. I would never have believed it. If not for the experience. I became enlightened. Yes, I was blessed by the Alzheimer’s experience. Believe it or not. --Jim Broede

Being at my best.

I wonder. If after accomplishing a remarkable feat. We take time off. And return to mediocrity. Telling ourselves. That we won’t be able to attain that level of joy again. Therefore. Just bask in the memory of it all. And settle for being ordinary. Rather than extraordinary. That’s the tale of the Chicago Cubs. My favorite baseball team. The defending world champions. Winner of the World Series. For the first time in 108 years. The Cubs aren’t playing like world champs anymore. They keep losing more games than they win. Their players aren’t in the top echelon. To put it bluntly, they stink.  Last season, they had seven players on the all-star team. This season, only one. Looks to me like the Cubs have taken the season off. As if they deserve. Merely going through the motions of playing baseball. Without heart. Without passion. Without a mission. Maybe we all do it. We find it impossible. To live at the peak forever. We have to come down. For rest. And rejuvenation. We can’t always be at our best. It would be too exhausting. Too challenging. I keep telling myself. That’s all right.  I deserve a break. Merely marking time for awhile. So that I can come back. Another day. To show that I’m still capable. Of being at my best. --Jim Broede

A master of the ridiculous.

I practice being ridiculous. Because that makes me feel good. If I was serious all the time. I’d be a boring fellow. Therefore, at some point. Virtually every day. I try to do something ridiculous. Such as what I’m doing now. Writing about the art of being ridiculous. It is an art. More than a craft. At least with me. I have been blessed with creator-given talent. Yes, a ridiculous talent. I have cultivated it all my life. And I’m proud to say. that I’m recognized. Especially by my friends. As perhaps the most ridiculous person they’ve ever met. They often ask me, how do I do it? It’s simple. Practice. Practice. Practice. Every day. And every night. Round-the-clock. That may sound ridiculous. Because it is. More evidence. That I'm a master of the ridiculous. -Jim Broede

Scared to death.

I don’t tell people what to do. But rather what I would do. In a variety of circumstances. Perhaps similar to theirs. That should not imply that they should do as I do. That would be unwise. Because I make my share of blunders and mistakes. And what is right for me may be very wrong for you.  Everyone should make their own decisions. Tailor-made. To fit you. I have long maintained. That my worst enemy. Would be my clone. I would never want to meet him. He probably would scare me to death. --Jim Broede

A potential dilemma.

Sometimes it’s best to not allow my friends, and especially my relatives, to influence me. To steer clear of their advice and promptings and requests. It’s not always the easy thing to do. Because I like to be a nice guy. I like to do favors.  Because I’ve been brought up. On the premise that blood and true friendship happen to be thicker than water.  But I’m not so sure about that anymore. I have an inner soul. A sense of right and wrong. That dictates to me. That strangers deserve equal treatment. Indeed, that might offend a friend or relative. I tell my Christian friends. That’s what I sense Jesus would do.  That poses a potential dilemma. --Jim Broede