Same ol’, Same ol’.

lafayette compound 012

Doing things the same way all the time automatically corrects for mistakes. If the size of the margin of error is bearable, one might maintain status quo for a very long time.

On the other hand, sometimes just changing one little thing may reduce the size of the margin.

Does it matter that we don’t know how things are gonna turn out? I don’t know but there is always same ol’, same ol’.

ee Broom


lafayette compound 012



Entertainment is a major priority in life; anything with a nervous system yearns to have fun.”

Animals don’t smile with their faces but who can mistake the joy of the family dog when the family comes home for the evening or the purr of a kitten or the baby who has learned to giggle.

Those who miss the joy and laughter, eat or drink ourselves into near sedation; we watch an imaginary world flash before us on large screen TV, we go to the mall and we become watchers.

And then one day we become the entertainer, a child laughs as we punch the laughter button and we laugh along with her and the memory of a sad event becomes nought  but a shadow;  the family dog leaps with delight as we enter the room and we know we are important , the Love of our Life has a bigger smile than usual because of something we said with unmeasured  enthusiasm and the world is suddenly better; our abdominal muscles relax as the need for a drink is forgotten and the sun comes up in the East  and we ask our inquisitive self ”“ what just happened.??? I can’t believe what just happened…”.

And you look for additional  opportunities to entertain someone; you are eager to say to anyone who will listen, “you won’t believe what just happened…” But you don’t because as you look around at the happy faces, you know that they know and you do whatever comes next.


Lee Broom





Predicting versus discovery of future events.

Imagining: the tool of para-communication.


When considering the truth of ideas which cannot truly be tested, it may still be possible to subject’ these ideas to known truths (beliefs). One can mentally remove the variables and work with whatever is left.

Consider this question: Is there a future? To believe that there is a future is to accept the notion that the future can be manipulated. If the future is viewable and the viewer experiences personal change with every experience then the viewers perception of the future no longer exists.

Note that the term “future” is relative to the term “present”; which reveals that “future” is a measurement  however vague, of time. This observation requires that we accept that “time” exists. But having discovered that any attempt to manipulate “time” must change “time”, then apparently “time” does not exist except to give meaning to our questions about Self. If I am correct in my guess, reading the future or remembering the past would employ identical brain activity.

Para Normal Communication however, appears to be measurable, if not dependably quantifiable. Though thought itself defies measurement, my own experience with ESP over the last 36 years leads me to believe that imagination has more to do with delivery of an idea or message than say, “sending”; imagining a conversation with someone occurs on a lower, “day-dreaming” level of consciousness and in my case I have discovered many times that the person I pretended to be speaking with, responded.

It is always a surprise since intention is never a part of this type of  event. I might add that in every case I can think of, the respondent believed themselves to be the initiator of whatever the subject may have been,

I can only remember one parapsychological event where I deliberately initiated a message to another and received a reply. I created a message and wrote it down. I then imagined myself as the other person. I “reshaped my face”, I imagined my new face with typical “other person” expressions and then holding those images in mind I began reading the message repeatedly. As I finished the fifth repetition, the phone rang. My friend made it very clear that the message had gotten through.

My message: “Call me before 7 am.” We were both late sleepers.

The reply: “Are you okay? I just had a dream that you were going to be in great danger at 7:00 am. Are you okay?”

Soylent Green and the Tattooed Man


With the onset of vulgarity we said goodbye to subtlety and with it curiosity, the most fundamental intellectual component of human existence. Ozzie and Harriet were replaced by the Simpsons and the tattooed man on the midway gave way to Grandma with her permanently shaded eyelids and four-year old great granddaughters with pierced ears and navels. When I was very young my mother sometimes covered my eyes when we went to the movies. The next day I’d ask my friends what I missed. It was usually either a nearly naked Betty Grable or a Nazi death camp.

The search for role models by American Youth now produces heroes with prison records and rappers whose vocabularies seem to favor four letter words and an alphabet that frequently gets stuck on the seventh letter. American slang is reflective of prison and street society. That segment of the population which receives free food, free rent and now free cell phones is not shrinking; it is growing at a rate much greater than that of the overall population and as the snowball effect becomes more visible the resulting influence of the values of the indolent victimizes middle class American youth and by the doing, all of American Society.

In a few years the current rate of moral and ethical regression may have our country on its knees.

(Dang, my monthly supply of Soylent Green* is nearly out. These crackers are made from people, you know. Oh well.)

Perhaps we’ll come back in future centuries as something better. Our DNA will be much improved. We will have a respectable quota of aborted fetuses, providing us with the genetic assistance for morphing into something so much better. Our bodies will be muscular and long limbed, those limbs and organs replacing and healing themselves, often without medical assistance. And Soylent Green will have come and gone. Sunday will become once again a day of rest for that is when we will eat and sleep. On Saturday night we will play. We will treat our no longer aging bodies to sexual romps with friends and family. On Sunday morning we will plug-in to a machine at our bedside which will keep us asleep and well fed until Monday morning. We will acquire all the rest and nutrients necessary for the rest of the week. And with raging hormones we will then continue on our competitive path, no longer content with Football or Hockey. Large carnivorous beasts will have long since been released back into society at large. They will hunt us and we will hunt them. Ahhh. Progress.

*Soylent Green is a 1973 American science fiction film directed by Richard Fleischer and starring Charlton Heston, and in his final film, Edward G. Robinson.

Lee Broom





All of life is mythology in progress.

Twenty observers of any given event would if asked, give varying reports of what they had observed. In fact any individual’s story about such would probably be altered over time. Only in print does a story have an opportunity to remain unchanged. But if a story or a report of an event makes for interesting reading and becomes a part of history, historians are notorious for arguing among themselves over the accuracy of recorded events. And then there are translations to other languages. There may even be translations within the original language as time changes that language into something new.

What is important is not the story but the lesson learned.

ee Broom




Brother Lawrence Hogan was a  man of great influence and a man of even greater kindness. In the rooms he was just Larry. To those who knew him he was the kind of guy that Robert Ludlum modeled his lead characters after. But unlike the dashing,  Ludlumesque heroes, Larry’s stories were true.

Without Brother Lawrence’s powers of political persuasion for example, the Franciscan Renewal Center would still be a getaway for those with something to hide. It would still be a resort owned by underworld figures.

And because of Larry I learned to mingle with the Rich and Famous. And because of Larry I now have stories to tell and ideas to sell.
And because of Larry and others like him I can do what I do without a drink in my hand.

But perhaps the most important thing that my friend ever taught me was how to be a man.

When he was in his early seventies it was decided by Church Superiors that he was no longer useful and that it was time to enter a nursing home.

I helped him to dispose of what few material goods he still had; in his late forties he had already given his millions to The Church, resigned his post with the United States Diplomatic Corps and entered into service as a Franciscan Friar. His Windsor knot was replaced by a Brotherly Bolo tie, his Washington  D. C. black striped  suit by a large brown bag and a rope around his middle.

Larry planned every detail of his transition from being needed to not;  when I finally delivered him curbside to the Catholic Institution that was to become responsible for his care he was greeted with the pomp and propriety one would expect for a Bishop or better.

Life as he knew it ended for Brother Lawrence the moment he passed through the portal of his new home.

Within days Brother Lawrence Hogan lost his mind.

Within days Brother Lawrence Hogan lost his life.

As one of Brother Hogan’s Heroes  what did I learn from his last lesson?

When those around me start regarding me as a service committment perhaps it is time to re-evaluate.

Am I serving others or myself?

Am I at peace with myself?

Lee Broom



      Photo courtesy of Wikepedia

GRRRREAT ( A year ago)

From the Mid Seventies through the Nineties I began each day by getting on the Arizona Canal at dawn and jogging five miles or more. When I lived at McCormick Ranch I started at Jackrabbit Rd and ran to Camelback and back; in Arcadia I started at 48th St. and Indian School behind the Monastery and ran to 68th St. and back. I remember saying to myself back then that there would never come a time when I would stop this practice.

These days the cilia in my lungs are matted down with tar from those years when I smoked (yes I smoked even during my 10 K years which is why I didn’t run marathons).

But yesterday I went to 48th st and Indian School and ran a mile. Actually, I was wheezing so badly that I ran a bit and walked a bit, using the distance between telephone poles to determine when to switch gaits. It wasn’t much but it was wonderful.

An hour later my lungs were working like those of a much healthier person.

Right now it is 530. My computer is down for a bit and I am on my way to 48th St & Indian School Rd. My lungs are already kicking out mucous as I anticipate the joy of pounding sand. I’ve always worked out at the gym but nothing takes the place of kicking up dust.

6:30 One mile again (GRRRREAT)



“Something a little different… Sandy.”

Sandy Abstract B W sent 11 28 2015

I have been a fan of this lady’s photographic
triumphs  for more years than either of us will
admit to.  Some of us find a comfortable niche
early in life and from that moment on nothing
seems to change or to improve.

Not so with Sandy,

Any month in her life reveals more change than,
most of us produce in a decade, with new con-
clusions to earlier questions and vice-versa,

Thank You Sandy,


Sandra Schou

Lee Broom