Mythtery, Oh Mythtery…..


Mythtery, Oh Mythtery
by Lee Broom


Don’t be satisfied with stories, how things have gone with others.

Unfold your own myth.”

~ Rumi

Does it matter that I got it right?

Must Eleven rhyme with Heaven?

Why not Seven?

Isn’t it enough that I experienced Love?

Must I care……

That I err?

Or whether?

Or never?

Who is to judge?

When will it stop?

Perhaps if  I lock……..

The door.

(I shall permit only speechless animals in my life.)

(I shall nod my head and tap my toes to the changeless rhythm of the many Faces of Fear and then I’ll be able to continue with my studies.)

Will I still be able to experience Love?

I wonder what Rumi would say,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

(What is so Mythterious, Lee.)

Comments, please.

Thank you.


Felves by Lee Broom


“I’m perfectly happy with my perfect self.”

Said the perfectly happy, perfect elf

“Except for only one thing.

I never learned how to sing.”


“Sing?” Trilled the fairy with voice so clear

“I’ll give you a voice we’ll all love to hear”

She waved her wand; it went “bling”

“Now let your new voice ring.”


Elf opened wide and tried his new sound

A lovely voice so mellow and round

Except for only one thing

To his old self he wanted to cling.


“I was perfectly happy with my perfect self”

Said the formerly happy, perfect elf

“Except for only one thing

I’m a bit of a dingaling.”


“Now that I’m perfect there’s nothing to change

There’s nothing at all left to rearrange

If only I had some wings”

Fairy waved her wand; it went “bling”.


If you’re looking for a happy ending, there is only Now. But let’s suppose that the elf is an ordinary self much like you and I. Elf discovered that his new voice was not new at all; he had been so enamored with his new persona that he failed to notice that his fairy friend now spoke with the husky voice which had once been his and that Fairy no longer had wings. The swap was irreversible. They now must learn to accept themselves and each other or spend the rest of their days being miserable.

Elf decided that Fairy must have loved him

A bushel and a peck

As the old song goes

And a hug around the neck

As the old song continues.

“Will you marry me” he trilled.

“Yes I will, yes I will”, she croaked.

So they were married by an elfin priest in the Magical Church of Fairyland and promised to spend their lives together, loving and sharing and maybe even raising some little felves. I never did learn how it all turned out. Are they happy together? Are they together? Are they…..? If I hear anything I’ll let you know.

Buffalo Bill Kills a Fly and a Gnat with a Single Swat (there were no pigeons around). From December 18, 2012


On display for all to see who were able,

”It is eye”

Said the gnatty, gnat, gnat on the nose of the fly

Who was perched on the nose of an irritable guy;  “Take that”.


And the irritable man, he swatted away

At the fly on his nose,

And the gnat (there he goes),

As his world went awry, said “goodbye”.


And the irritable man with the tie in his hand

Completed the Windsor knot.

And tucking at this and that around the collar until satisfied that “handsome is as handsome does”

(He loved this tie a lot),

Except for the spot

Where the fly had landed.


So happy he was  that the fly was now gone. (the fly never really knew what hit him on the return approach).


The gnat by the way, was just that, In The Way.

And the hand of the  man went SWAT once again

And returned to his image in the glass in the lav

And perfected the  knot in his Brooks Brothers tie and said “Dang,

I’m a handsome man.”


So….what do you think of your blue-eyed boy now Mr. Cummings.

Who is That in the Mirror?


Black holes and dark clouds and space dust are universal metaphors for what(?); that part of you that has no room for anything at all but the perfectly straight line that travels from the retina of your only remaining eye, returning when it will from the end of the universe, ignoring, no, completely oblivious to anyone else in you path(?); no, it’s the other way around, isn’t it?

Isn’t  it?

I’ll pass, Old Friend.

It’ll pass.

A Candy Applish, Sparkly Gold Rolls Royce. © Lee Broom from Leadership, A Love Story.



“All you have to do is know where you’re going. The answers will come to you of their own accord”.        Earl Nightingale.

“The biggest mistake that you can make is to believe that you are working for somebody else. Job security is gone. The driving force of a career must come from the individual. Remember: Jobs are owned by the company, you own your career!” Earl Nightingale.

“You become what you think about, you will reap what you sow and you must provide service to others.” Earl Nightingale.

 I was in the workroom of Lee Broom Gallery and Framery. It was a beautiful spring day in Scottsdale Arizona; the space shuttle  just been launched, Russia had just decided to implement Daylight Savings Time, and Isuzu had recently become the sixth Japanese automobile manufacturer to begin selling its product line in the United States of America. The stereo was tuned to the classical music station and I was listening to Rachmaninov’s Piano Concerto No. 3 in D minor, Op. 30. The recording was of the composer himself at the piano. The year of this recording was 1929, years before the year of my birth, probably at New York City Music Hall. (I am listening as I write, to this same piece as performed by Olga Kern.) As I listened and locked in the last brad in the frame I was building, reaching as I did so for the Kraft paper I had already prepared to be used as a dust cover, I saw through the window, a Candy Appleish, Sparkly Gold  Rolls Royce pulling up to the curb.

Great; this could mean a big sale. I continued working, observing the driver emerging from a beautiful if somewhat vulgar looking almost-a-limo; he walked around to the trunk which appeared to be opening itself, removed a large cardboard box and start toward my front door.  As he approached the showroom I was already holding the door open for my visitor.  He entered the room, moving deliberately toward the 4′ x 8′ glass table which served as a sales counter and also as my desk. The gentleman did not look around at my beautifully designed showroom as did others when entering for the first time. Nor did he hesitate when entering the room; he seemed to have been here before. Today, I was the only staff member on the premises. My two framers were absent without leave.

The music reached its conclusion. I looked at the welcome intruder, listened as he asked what I thought to be a perfectly ridiculous question, “Do you offer senior discounts.” Music returned. It was now my favorite composition of all time, the Rach’s first movement from his second piano concerto, this time being performed by Van Clyburn. Instantly inspired and at the same time recognizing my visitor, I helped him remove the contents of the box ignoring for the moment his question and pausing to admire a Piranesi print .  “I know you. I couldn’t place your face but the minute I heard your voice I knew you.”

“Well”, He dragged it out a bit, watching me as though he were deliberately and easily reading my mind. “So…..tell me please,” the serious look on his face was a mask for an impish side to his personality, that particular trait being suddenly revealed by a bit of a twinkle in one eye or another, “Who am I?”.

“You Sir are Sky King.”

The gravel in my visitor’s deep baritone voice added an unusually comedic air, filling the small show room as he began to laugh, and laugh and laugh. I chuckled as he quieted down and offered me his hand. “Earl Nightingales” he explained.

“Lee Broom.” I accepted his handshake. “I’m very happy to meet you Mister Nightingale.”

“Thank you” he replied. I wish you’d call me Earl. May I call you Lee?”

“You may do that Earl. I apologize for not answering your question about senior discounts. No. I don’t do that. But I’ll tell you what I will do. If you’ll watch the shop for twenty minutes, I’ll go fetch some sandwiches. You can play with samples. Look at artwork. Just make yourself at home. When I return – I assume since it is 11:45 that you haven’t had lunch?” I paused.  “When I return I’ll give you a ten percent discount on all framing and artwork that you might be inclined to buy and I’ll deliver all completed work to your home free of charge. I’ll even install it for free if you will allow me to bring a photographer.”

A big smile lit Earl’s larger than life, face. “Where’s the sandwich shop, Lee?”

“Scottsdale and Shea.”

“Scottsdale and Shea? That’s two blocks from here. I don’t see another car out front. It’ll take twenty minutes just to walk there and back. Another 15 minutes for the food to be prepared. Is your car in the rear of the store?”

“It’s at the garage having the brakes  re-lined.”

“Well, just how did you plan on getting there?”

“I plan to drive your car.” His face now had that same look that I’d interpreted earlier as his ESP face. He reached in his pocket and removed his keys.

“I’m trusting you with my Rolls Royce, Lee.”

“I’m trusting you with my shop, Earl.” I suddenly had an idea and told him to hold his thought while I retrieved something from the back room. I returned with a well-worn copy of THE STRANGEST SECRET by Earl Nightingale. “I made some notes in this book. Maybe while I’m gone you’d like to flip through the pages.” That look again. And, then a smile.


And thus began a friendship with a man who would with no more than a dozen meetings in as many years, be remembered as one of the most stimulating friendships I had ever known. We talked a lot about “Success” over the years. He learned that day, the day he loaned me his Candy Appleish, Sparkly Gold Rolls Royce, the day that I left him with my well-worn copy of his book, The Strangest Secret; he knew that I did not agree with everything that he had written. Whenever I had felt a critique rising to the surface I’d left written evidence in the margins of those thoughts. Some were a bit caustic. I’m not certain why I took a chance like that. I ran the risk of sabotaging a friendship not yet realized and on a more practical note, I needed his business. But, I felt that I knew Earl the minute I let him in my front door. And, as time would demonstrate, my sense of a connection had been accurate. It could be said that the concert pianist playing in the background as Earl and I met, was only a skilled craftsman compared to the Composer who was one with the Universe as he wrote the original composition. One could say that but I believe that would be a  mistake in judgment.

I believe that those who create, especially those who create music are often indeed, One with the Universe, regardless of which role they happen to be playing at the time. I believe that on this particular day that Earl and I were every bit as connected as Van Cliburn to Rachmaninov, on that spring day in 1981. Or was it 1982. (As you can see I have more faith in my connectedness than in my memory.)

When I returned, Earl was visiting with my friend and business neighbor, Herb Drinkwater. It was to Drinkwater Liquor and Cheese that I had gone for sandwiches. Silly me. It was right across the street. Earl was telling Herb about his new home. It was near the crest of Mummy Mountain. It had a fully equipped radio station, a 100 foot mast and he was already doing his radio show every morning from the comfort of his own home.

I was very familiar with the building in which he lived and after he left that day I wondered for a moment what it must be like for him to be earning his living doing the work that he loved. It took only a moment to realize that this is what sparked the flame of recognition between us for it was that drive to live one’s dream that Earl and I shared.

I reached across the table and picked up THE STRANGEST SECRET by Earl Nightingale and opened the cover.  “To my new friend Lee Broom, who loaned me his store and welcomed me to Scottsdale Arizona. Earl Nightingale.”

If you seek to be a Leader, the best you can hope for is to be a Great Follower. If you seek to be a success you already are.    Lee Broom from Leadership. A Love Story.


Landed Gentry

Suppose you were stranded on a deserted island in the South Pacific hundreds of miles from the nearest, well-traveled sea-lane. You’re all alone. Occasionally, you see the fin of a circling shark. It is a small island; probably less than an acre, there is a small stand of coconut palms, a few deserted shells lying around, some grass and minor shrubbery. And……..

Miracle of miracles, there is a plant about three feet high with four yellow blossoms. Those flowers weren’t on that plant when you drifted to shore yesterday. Aren’t they beautiful? Aren’t they amazing? You remember that you have a plant like that back home in Arizona, in your backyard; it has new blossoms nearly every day. You wonder if this will blossom daily. You remember the gratitude that you felt every morning when you went out on the patio to read the Republic and visit with the Family Quail and you saw the flowers. You never removed one. You linger on that picture for a moment and try to feel the memory of gratitude but you discover that you can’t. And, you wonder if it is even possible to relive a feeling. Probably, you say to yourself if you pay a hypnotist a hundred dollars or so to help you with that. But for the moment the only feeling available to you  is a kind of blank, puzzlement.

Now, I know that this is just pretend stuff that we’re doing here but bear with me, please? Be honest. Are you grateful for the flowers that you have right this second or are you in a panic because you nearly died last night? Apparently there were no other survivors. In fact, there is no sign that you were ever on this tour-boat. Surely there  is debris nearby. You’re afraid to venture into these waters because of the sharks, right?

But, are you certain that these big sea critters are sharks? They could be teenage orcas, or porpoises or dolphins perhaps. If you wade out there  one might venture over and say hey there, let’s play horsey. It might also say to the other family members “Lunch”.

But as long as we’re imagining this event, let’s say you didn’t get here on a cruise ship. You got here in a time machine. That fin could be on the back of an ichthyosaur. And unless you can remember walking into a Dr. Whovian phone booth with one or more companions, you are definitely alone on this planet. And since you have no knowledge of Jurassic geography, this little island with the warm currents and fish and coconuts is yours for the duration. So……..

How do you feel? Probably a wide range of feelings right? Would you say that the heavier side of the scale leans more toward gratitude or toward feelings of danger?

There probably won’t be a Thanksgiving turkey, or pumpkin pie, but there are seventeen coconuts and one large vertebrate swimming around, courting you with its dorsal fin.

And, look  to your right, partially hidden in the brush. Isn’t that a member of the quail family; its as big as a turkey.

Have a lovely Thanksgiving.