A plot. To drive me crazy.

I like dealing directly. With real live human beings. One on one. But too often I'm shunted aside. Asked via a recording. To punch in numbers. And I'm channeled. From one robot to another and another. With no opportunity to talk to a real person. It's very frustrating. Because the robots too often aren't programmed to answer my legitimate inquiries/questions.  Occasionally, I'm given the option. To hang on. For an opportunity to speak to a living, breathing hombre. And I rejoice. But most times, that doesn't happen. I'm left in limbo. To cavort with inhumane robots. Programmed to annoy me. Maybe it's a plot. To drive me crazy. --Jim Broede

Beats being dead.

It's too easy. To find something. To worry about. Mostly by thinking ahead. Far, far ahead. Because that ultimately leads to one's demise. Also known as death.  I'm fortunate. In that's what it takes. Thinking about the end of life. For me to worry. Some of my friends. Have immediate problems.  That keep them worrying. Round the clock. I had a worrisome dream tonight. But got the problem solved. By waking up. Now I'm feeling better. More or less worry-free. Because I have decided to live the immediate moment. Without getting involved in the past or the future. By writing about the concept. Of don't worry. Be happy. Everyone can do it. If they try. That includes my most worrisome friends. Julie and Rick. Rick does a better job of finding happiness. Though far from perfect. As for his wife Julie, she's the queen of fret. Some days, she doesn't have a moment of happiness. Because she's in the deep throes of depression. And doesn't seek help. Instead, she wallows. Endlessly in doldrums. And goes to her stashes of red wine. In fruitless attempts to drown her sorrows. But the wine only drives Julie deeper into despair. She's trapped. And can't find her way out. To safety. And happiness. Indeed, that's a human tragedy. A living hell. Little wonder. That some people would rather be dead. Than alive. But I'm not one of 'em. I'd rather be alive and happy. Beats being dead.. --Jim Broede

The ideal vacation.

Just thinking. I'm living in such a manner. That I'm always on vacation. In that I'm flexible. Able to live at a leisurely pace. I'm retired. So I don't have to go to work. Though I still practice my craft. Writing. Mostly for pleasure. It really ain't work. I feel free. And independent. I perform housework. Cook sumptuous dinners. Go for long walks. Daily.  Stay in touch with a few friends. And do pretty much as I please. One might call it the ideal vacation. --Jim Broede

Like a meandering river.

Folks, you may not know it. So let me tell you. This is a very unique blog. No other blog in the world is quite like this. Maybe not even remotely so. Yes, Broede's Broodings is different. Over 8,000 musings. Also known as broodings. My random thoughts. Over a period of years. I've stopped counting. Better to live merely one day at a time. And speak my  piece. In blurbs. Short writings. A blend of consequential and inconsequential stuff. Reflections. On life. Literary quality doesn't matter. Better to let life flow. Naturally. Like a meandering river. --Jim Broede

Pretending. That I'm a happy hermit.

A hermit. I'd probably make a good one. Living in seclusion from society. Of course, I haven't done it. Because I'm in love. With my Italian amore. And with life. Hermits can be in love, too. With their way of life. Away from people. There's an advantage. To shutting one's self off from other people. One would still have the opportunity to focus on other things. Such as the natural environs. Hermits also could easily fall in love. With Mother Nature.  I'd love to meet some hermits. But I suspect they wouldn't want to meet me. I'd like to know if they live relatively low-stress lives. Because they may be oblivious of so much of the world's turmoil. Anyway, I occasionally put myself to the test. Withdrawing to my cocoon. For several days. Pretending. That I'm a happy hermit. --Jim Broede

A way to live forever. In denial.

Proper ways. To achieve a goal. I'm frequently told. This or that way. Is the proper way. Fortunately, I like to experiment. And take the 'improper' approach. Because it works. Not all the time. But frequently. Yes, there are many, many ways to solve a problem. Such as the bugaboo plaguing my dear friend Julie.  She's been in the throes of depression. And she's complicated the matter. With daily doses of alcohol. Plus an eating disorder. Which has her looking gaunt. These ungodly practices have been going on for several years. It's a wonder. That Julie has survived this long. Maybe she deserves a medal. For beating the odds. For beating death. Despite a wayward and improper lifestyle. Maybe Julie has discovered the secret of survival. Think about it. Julie used to have some friends and associates. That rigidly followed proper healthy regimens. Religiously. And they're dead. Julie. Julie. Maybe you are the genius who has found a way to live forever. Albeit, in denial. --Jim Broede

How to survive a frigid winter.

Really, I'm able to take winter in stride.  Even in the worst of times. In blustery and frigid Minnesota. Though admitting that most winters, I flee. For weeks and months.  To warmer climes. In Sardinia, the land of my Italian amore Cristina. But please don't get me wrong.  I love Minnesota. I'm capable of surviving a Minnesota winter, and loving it. Because that's my nature. I could even handle winter in Siberia. Or in the Arctic. Of course, I'd like my amore there, too. To help keep me warm.  --Jim Broede