There's a story behind everyone.

In becoming better acquainted with my neighbors, I may be learning too much. Things I might not want to know. Marriage break-ups. Serious illnesses. Alcohol abusers. Some generally very unhappy people. Yes, my neighbors probably are typical of society. A blend of good and bad stuff. Happy people. Unhappy people. Maybe I was better off wearing blinders. Paying little heed to what's going on. Not really knowing my neighbors. But hey, I'm on a mission. To get a better feel for the neighborhood. And for the people in it. Not that I can do anything about it. Those leading troubled lives have to find their own routes to happiness, or to a better life. I'm one of the fortunate. I really don't have serious problems. At least, not at the moment. But I'm discovering people with serious problems. Mental. Physical. Emotional. I could write a book. About getting to know one's neighbors and one's neighborhood. In some ways, I suppose, my neighborhood is unique. But in other ways, I suppose it's much like any other neighborhood. With most people just going about their business. And really not paying much attention to each other. Because they are focused on their own problems. In their own families. Amazing what I discover. By engaging neighbors in conversation. By socializing. They volunteer lots of information. Maybe they talk because they sense I'm listening. And because I'm inquisitive. I learn a lot from people that talk about other people. More than they talk about themselves. Very informative. Very enlightening. But also entertaining. There's a story behind everyone. Yes, very personal stories. --Jim Broede

I prefer an inner circle.

I like to drag people into my world. Especially my friends. Which means, I like to share. To introduce my friends to each other. I even like to share my Italian true love. Because she has more influence on me than anyone. She motivates me. Inspires me. She's worth knowing. Yes, I live in a world. Around me. Something that is. Always was. But I've also created my own little domicile. Which I sometimes refer to as my cocoon. An inner circle. Of friends. And spirits. I invite in the closest of my friends. In a sharing manner. So they get to know each other. And know me. Otherwise, I'd be selfish. But then again, maybe I am. Selfish. Because I prefer an inner circle. Rather than an outer circle. --Jim Broede

Makes me a dreamer, doesn't it?

I'm starting to think of my neighborhood as the world. Yes, Mother Earth. The whole place. From one end to another. From top to bottom. I've been defining my immediate neighborhood as the half-mile radius around me. But that's silly. Far too restricting. Decided I wanna start thinking big. Now that I've become a world traveler, of sorts. In fact, I'm thinking about branching out. Beyond Earth. To the planets. To outer space. To the entire cosmos. Yes, to other galaxies. That's my goal. My dream. Preposterous? No. Because I suspect that once I become spirit, I'm free to navigate. To go anywhere. Merely by moving my spirit. Instantly. To any place in the cosmos. I can even move 1,000 light years away. In the snap of my spiritual fingers. No limits. Life would be a terrible shame if I didn't have access to all of creation. I suspect that's what god intended. Makes me a dreamer, doesn't it? --Jim Broede

On becoming an explorer.

Dennis is gone. And there's new owners in what was his domicile on the lake for 20 years. He's back in the Detrot area. Where he grew up. In the two decades that Dennis lived in the neighborhood, I didn't know his name. But before he left, I learned not only his name, but interesting stuff. Dennis is becoming a world traveler. Better late than never. He's been to Albania. Recently. For the wedding of his son. To an Albanian. Albania ain't that far from Italy. Where I'm living half of the year with my Italian true love. In fact, Albania is just across the Adriatic Sea. Strange, isn't it? That I decided to get to know a little about Dennis. Just before he pulled up stakes. And left. I suggested that Dennis read my blog. It's a way to stay in touch with his fond, old neighborhood. And maybe he'd even read about himself. By the way, Dennis, many of your neighbors were surprised and pleased to learn of your Albanian connection. Some of 'em wish they were world travelers. And I tell them, go, go, go. Never too late to explore the world and other cultures. --Jim Broede

Gonna keep being neighborly.

Larry and Jane seem to be a nice couple. They live about 10 or 12 doors down from me. On another street. Wasn't until a week ago that I learned their names. Though they've lived in the neighborhood for years and years. They used to have greyhound and collie dogs. And they walked 'em daily. We passed each other. Maybe hundreds of times. Waved. Exchanged brief greetings. But never got to know each other. I never bothered to learn their names. Until I finally asked. Because I'm on a mission. To get to know the names and something about my neighbors. Yes, people living within a half-mile radius of me. Noticed Larry was walking a different dog. But turns out it's not his dog. Belongs to a neighbor. And Larry is doing the neighbor a favor. Larry's charming collie was put to sleep a while back. So Larry and Jane don't have a dog any more. Unless one counts the neighbor's dog. Maybe the neighbor is on vacation. I didn't ask. But I chatted with Larry. He and Jane spent much of the winter away. In Hawaii. And on a trip east. To visit his son. In Philadelphia, I think. I'm gonna keep learning more about my neighbors. All of 'em. Not only their names. But other interesting tidbits, too. --Jim Broede

Cruising in a spiritual paradise.

It's the most hauntingly beautiful spiritual music I've ever heard. The Don Cossack choir/chorus. Singing/chanting the liturgical music and divine requiem mass of the Russian Orthodox Church. I became acquainted with the music when I was a youngster. On the Decca label. Two phonograph records. And I listened. Hundreds of times. Mesmerized. Hypnotized. A true spiritual experience. I don't know what happened to the records. Probably wore out. And I've looked for a transcription. On CDs. And haven't found one. Though I do have the music performed by other groups. But still, it's not quite the same as the Don Cossacks. I was pleasantly reminded of the music today. When I purchased, for 50 cents, a used CD of sacred chants for soloists and male choir. Performed by the 'Orthodox Singers' choir/chorus. Featuring soloist Irina Arkhipova, a mezzo-soprano. Listened on my battery-operated CD player while riding my bicycle. Today. Cruising in a spiritual paradise. --Jim Broede

I'm trying to deal with bugaboos.

I like to confide. That's a word that I embrace. And savor. Because it's so meaningful. To me. In terms of the way I deal with life. And people. I confide. A whole lot. In people that I like. But even in strangers. My desktop dictionary defines 'confide' this way: 'To have confidence. To trust. To show confidence by imparting secrets. To tell confidentially.' But then, I don't have secrets. Or at least not many. Not intentional secrets. Only things that I forget. Unintentionally. Anyway, I like to go naked into the world. To hide nothing. Maybe that's an impossibility. Because there's so much to hide. A huge collection of experiences. Can't possibly keep tract of 'em all. Maybe that's the bugaboo of life. Yes, that's another word that catches my fancy. Bugaboo. So many, many bugaboos. Here's the definition: 'An imaginary object of fear. A source of concern.' Maybe that's why I confide in people. In virtually everyone I meet. Because I'm trying to deal with bugaboos. With misunderstandings. --Jim Broede