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Bunnies to the Left, Bunnies to the Right

April 13, 2020
Brad Graber
News

Is it my imagination or are there bunnies everywhere this Easter? Dust bunnies, that is. Floating past me in the kitchen. Dancing along the hallway. Waving from the corner of the dining room. How can this be? And more importantly, why haven’t I noticed these animated tumbleweeds before?

Quarantine

As a writer, I’ve worked from home for years. But with COVID-19, we’re no longer using a cleaning service. In fact, we haven’t welcomed anyone into our disease-free fortress for at least six weeks. But if I ever wondered why we had a cleaning service, I know now. Gosh, two people can create quite a mess.

Bunny?

Which makes me wonder. Why is that tumbleweed called a dust bunny? Is it because the word bunny is cute? Not exactly. I’ve recently learned it’s because of the fluffiness of the dust, which by the way, according to a 2009 University of Arizona study, dust is comprised of “a mixture of organic matter such as dead skin cells and organic fibers, soil tracked-in on footwear, and particulate matter derived from the infiltration of outdoor air.” Egad. There’s nothing cute about that!

Where’s the Vacuum?

In our house, we have two vacuum cleaners. The upright and the canister. Why do we have two? I’m not sure. I can only assume we each once had a preferred model? But to be honest, neither of us has used a vacuum in years. The dustbuster, sure. But a vacuum? Nope. So both vacuums have been sitting in our garage collecting dust. Until now. And with a flip of a switch, a pull on a cord, we’ve begun the arduous process of vacuuming. Discovery #2. You have to have a very young back to excel at vacuuming.

And the Rest of the House?

It’s obvious we need to do more than just vacuum. Oh well. These are the times that make men hardy. Or something like that. And so we’ll schedule a cleaning ritual. Vacuum, dust, clean countertops, and attack the dreaded toilet. This’s all doable. After all, we are mighty men. Capable and strong. Or, maybe, we can just clean when the dust bunny problem gets out of hand. I like that idea. After all, how much dirt can we really create? Hmm. Based on what I’m seeing around right now—quite a lot!

One Last Thought

Don’t forget to grab a copy of my latest book: What’s That Growing in My Sour Cream? It’s a touch of Erma Bombeck with a sprinkle of David Sedaris and just a hint of Andy Rooney.

What Do Your Art Choices Say About You?

The other day, I was sitting at my desk contemplating the wall scenery. That’s what you do when you’re stumped, hoping some brilliant plot point emerges so that you can finish up the new novel you’ve been working on for months. As I looked about, it occurred to me that artwork can reveal a lot about your personality. I suppose that makes sense. After all, I chose all the pieces in my office. But, had I considered what others might think when they looked at my walls? Did I realize that I was revealing a great deal about myself to the astute viewer? And more importantly, was I in touch with the meaning of those pieces and how they reflected my mindset?

Calling Dr. Freud

So let’s see. I have a collection of silent movie posters. Colorful and bold even though all those pictures were shot in black and white. Hmm. Am I someone who is fighting his own nature? A guy who is shy but able to evoke an outgoing personality when pressed? And am I struggling to find my voice much like those silent films? Maybe.

Little Mouse

I love Stuart Dunkel’s whimsical pieces. Especially when a mouse (our kindly hero) sneaks donuts and candy. I think that imagery is clear. The little guy always wins in the end. Yes, he does! At least on my wall.

Joan & Clark

Another corner of the room displays an MGM poster from Strange Cargo, a 1940 film starring Joan Crawford and Clark Gable. It’s an odd jungle movie about escaped prisoners, survival, with a strong nod to the importance of God in our lives. I know. That doesn’t sound like Joan’s typical fair. No glamour. No shoulder pads. Nonetheless, Gable still wants to wallop her—the big gorilla (but he never does; that would be crossing the line). It’s a romantic adventure in the least romantic of settings. And a damn good film. I’ve watched it a few times. Each time, I see something new. Like that faith-based God message. A real surprise for a Crawford/Gable film.

Collage

Behind the sofa, there’s a large oil of mixed media. I’m not sure what this piece says about me. Perhaps, I’m complicated. Another interpretation: I’m really messed up.

Oh, the Games We Play

So the next time you visit someone’s home, glance about and try to determine what the artwork is communicating about your host. I think it might be an interesting exercise. If it’s an Elvis painted on velvet, well, you know you’re in the company of people with excellent taste. I particularly like the one that glows in the dark!

Now It’s Your Turn

So, take a few moments and share with me how your favorite piece of artwork reflects your personality. Just comment below. I can’t wait to see the response.

Rings Reveal the Truth of Our Relationship

Recently, a stranger in a crowded airport elevator turned to Jeff and me and asked whether we were brothers. Really? We look nothing alike. Instead of answering, we both held up our ring fingers. The gentleman seemed surprised. He uttered something or other, and though he didn’t say much, I could sense the judgment. Not that we were a same-sex couple, but that he really thought we looked alike. Huh?

Smothers Brothers

Of course, this made me think of all the wonderful brother teams out there. The Jonas Brothers. The Hemsworths. The Three Stooges. Wait! They weren’t all brothers. Curly, Moe, and Shemp were. Larry wasn’t. The fabulous Marx brothers. Groucho, Zeppo, Chico, and Harpo. Karl, despite rumors to the contrary, was not part of their act.

To Be Fair, We Share Certain Traits

Jeff and I are fairly close in age and height. Though he’s a year younger. He’d want me to point that out. We’re both Jewish, though neither of us ever seems to remember when it’s Passover. We’re both white men. Yet in the summer, Jeff tans easily, so I’m a lot whiter. But let’s face it. Brothers don’t always look alike. Neither of us particularly looks like our brother. So maybe that wasn’t what the stranger was picking up on.

Standing in Each Other’s Shadow

Years ago, an older man pulled me aside at a GLBTQ fundraiser. He’d seen us from a distance, earlier in the week. “You two young men are standing way too close,” he counseled. “Walking in each other’s space.” He was warning us to be careful. More circumspect. That it’s dangerous to be so out in the world. A light bulb went off.

That’s It!

I finally understood why Jeff and I were constantly tripping over each other. Stepping on the other’s toes. Cutting each other off in mid-path. Since then, we’ve tried to be more mindful of our personal space. Not to stand so darn close. Not to lean into each other. And yet, we continue to bump shoulders and trip. I guess some habits are hard to break. And though we’re not keen on public displays of affection, it’s nice to know that we remain physically connected. After all, proximity to the one you love is a wonderful thing. Even if you have to elbow them, now and then, to move over.

Now for the Good News

After the Fall has been named a Finalist in the Indie Forewords Book of the Year Award. And just the other day we heard that After the Fall will be awarded a 2019 Indie Discovery Book Award. The formal announcement will come in June. So if you haven’t yet grabbed a copy, now’s the time to reach for that next summer read. https://amzn.to/2vQqDOT

A New Year: Hooray or Oy Vey?

It’s a new year and that means a fresh start. All things are possible as we look ahead. But to be honest, that just isn’t my nature. I tend to be the guy looking over his shoulder, wondering what could have been. Alright. I know. That’s a bit of a downer. But we can’t all be running around happily celebrating. I’d call that chaos. So instead of spreading New Year’s cheer, I’m going to share my private thoughts about the new year. Just consider it another perspective.

Guy Lombardo vs. Ryan Seacrest

Okay, I admit it. Ryan Seacrest is a personable guy. And Anderson Cooper and Andy Cohen can also be fun to watch. But to be honest, I miss Guy Lombardo and the live telecast from The Waldorf Astoria. I know. Corny. Perhaps. But there was something special about watching New York’s high society celebrating in the Grand Ballroom. It was like sitting on the stairs in your pajamas looking in on the adults. Everything seemed so very elegant. And we just don’t do elegant anymore.

It’s A Wonderful Life

And what happened to all those terrific holiday films? Yes, The Wizard of Oz had a telecast. Thank goodness. But nowhere else could you find The Miracle on 34^th Street, It’s a Wonderful Life or Holiday Inn. I checked Turner Movie Classics on Christmas Day. These beloved films have been replaced by modern fare. Okay. I get it. Time marches on. Maybe so. But I haven’t.

January Birthday

It might be easier if I wasn’t a Capricorn. Being a Cappy means I must come to grips with the new year and growing older, all within days of each other. My cake now holds only one candle. No sense in setting off the smoke alarm. I can make a wish and easily blow it out in one breath. I’m surrounded by birthday cards. Lots of jokes about indigestion, arthritis, flatulence, and old age. The cards make me laugh. But they aren’t projecting a future that anyone might hope for. In fact, it’s what we all fear.

One Step Forward, One Step Back

So for me, New Year’s is less about Auld Lang Syne and more about the Hokey Pokey. It will take months before I’m truly comfortable. Some of us are just slow adapters. Nonetheless, I still want to wish everyone a happy and healthy New Year. Just don’t make me say, 2019.

Thanksgiving: Turkey Or Not?

It’s turkey time again and so the hoopla begins about how to defrost the darn bird without poisoning your family. Throughout the year, Americans might eat turkey, but that is mostly in a compact form: ground turkey, cutlets, breasts, or luncheon meat. Preparing the whole bird is strictly a Thanksgiving Day endeavor. And so on this one day of the year, the threat looms. Defrost that bird correctly or suffer the consequences. And I don’t mean your Aunt Martha’s disapproval.

What? No turkey?

Years ago, I found myself at a restaurant for a family Thanksgiving celebration. My in-laws had decided to have Thanksgiving at a rib joint. Now, I love ribs, but really? Thanksgiving is for turkey. Preferably a big buffet loaded with every possible carb that your cardiologist has warned against. That’s my idea of a celebration. And I’m sure, most Americans would agree. The solution? Prepare the traditional meal at home. And so, with just the two of us, turkey became our main staple. Lots of turkey. Just enough for us to get good and sick of the whole thing. Ahh. That’s why Thanksgiving only comes once every 365 days. Who can stand the leftovers?

Side Dishes

Let’s face it. The side dishes make the meal. Sweet potatoes, green bean casserole, stuffing. Wonderful stuff. But then there’s the traditional pumpkin pie. I don’t like pumpkin. Whoever came up with that idea? I say, keep the pumpkin for the Jack O’Lantern and make another dessert. I’d welcome a nice cheesecake, fruit pie, or brownie. And I find that ice cream can really help with digestion. A big scoop always does the trick.

Have A Great Celebration

So from our family to yours, here’s wishing you a terrific Thanksgiving. Enjoy the meal and your family and friends. And remember. It’s not all about the food. Yeah, right. Hey, could you pass the potatoes and gravy? What do you mean there’s no gravy?

Trauma and Humor: A Bad Combination

September 18, 2018
Brad Graber
Growing Older

If you follow me on Facebook, then you might have guessed there would be an upcoming blog about the passing of our sweet poodle, Charlie. He would have been 15 years old in December, which is a good run for any dog. He’d been sick the last 2 1/2 years with congestive heart disease, and though Jeff and I were aware that time was running out, the shock of his passing was still overwhelming.

Oh, No. Your Not Going to Talk About It?

Yes. Just a bit. Bear with me.

Our First Dog

In 2002, I was out of town on business when Jeff put Woody, our wire-hair fox terrier, to sleep. And even though it was many years ago, I remember being relieved that I didn’t have to make the decision. Poor Jeff had to do it alone. And to be honest, I didn’t understand the pain of the experience. I wasn’t in the room that day. I didn’t hold Woody as he took his last breath. It was easy to separate from the experience. Easy for me to make ridiculous jokes in a pathetic attempt to lighten the mood. After all, that’s what I do. When things get uncomfortable, I joke. It’s my coping strategy.

And Now This Week

We opted for in-home euthanasia after the vet told us that Charlie needed daily doses of fluids under the skin. We were familiar with the procedure. We’d given fluids to our first dog for over six months. Woody never seemed to mind. He always sat calmly through it and then immediately perked up. But Charlie was not about to do the same. He’d had enough. I could see it in his eyes. We were scaring him and he was tired. Too many pills and too much poking.

It Was Time

And so Jeff and I decided together and our vet agreed. We opted for an in-home visit, thinking it would be easier for Charlie. But there is no such thing as easier. I’m still haunted by the surprised look in Charlie’s eyes when he was poked in the rear by the first needle. The drug that provided the calming euphoria. And then the look when he received the last shot. And those final breaths.

Apologies Are Due

There are times in life when we create discord in our relationships without really understanding how. I did that by not appreciating the extent of the trauma Jeff suffered when he put Woody to sleep. I understand that pain now. Sometimes, we need to go through an experience to grasp the enormity of its impact. I wish that wasn’t true. And for that, I am sorry. Jeff deserved better.

What’s in a Word?

The other day, I was watching an old movie and it occurred to me that there are so many words that are no longer in vogue. For instance, pocketbook. No one uses that word anymore. My grandmother did, but then she’s been gone since 1972. Or valise. When was the last time anyone packed a valise? Valises are now the exclusive property of Goodwill and resale shops. Some have even been refurbished and used as stylized decor in high-end retail settings such as Manhattan’s ABC Home Furnishings at 881 Broadway. If you haven’t been there, it’s worth the trip. It’s like stepping back in time. Everything old is new again. Especially the way the merchandise is displayed. During my last visit a few years back, they had rows of restored school lockers. Nostalgia alone tempted me to nearly make a purchase.

Darling, Hold Me Close!

And when was the last time someone uttered those words? Greta Garbo, Joan Crawford, Bette Davis? It sure isn’t happening in my house. Darling seems to have gone the way of Post Toasties, Now Voyager, and Tallulah Bankhead. We’ve become a society of babe, sweetie, and dear. Now, I admit, I like the sound of darling. It’s romantic. And there is nothing wrong with romance. Come to think of it, I’d prefer my darlings to be whispered in the dark and behind closed doors. I know. That’s highly unlikely. So in the interim, honey will just have to do.

The Chiropodist Has A Mistress?

A chiropodist was once the professional name for a podiatrist. Today, you won’t find a shingle boasting the services of a chiropodist. Too bad. Chiropodist is such an interesting word. It has a musical quality. I imagine happy toes, wiggling with excitement. And talking about excitement, does a rich married guy still have a mistress? I think the sexual revolution and the women’s movement have done away with that classification. And to be fair, when was the last time anyone was called a gigolo? I’m drawing a blank.

Partner?

Which brings me to the term partner. In my novel, After the Fall, there is a misunderstanding between Harry, a guy in his mid-50s, and Barney, a teenager, when the word partner is invoked. For the older character, the term partner is a substitute for a gay spouse. For the teenager, it sounds like two fellows in business together. I have to admit, even as a married man, I sometimes default to the word partner. Old habits die hard while new words take practice. I guess it really is all about being comfortable with change. Harry and I seem to share that struggle. But I’m working on it. And I guess that’s really all we can ask of ourselves. By the way, if you haven’t met my husband Jeff, he’s a helluva guy!

If You’re A Baby Boomer, Does Anyone Still Want to Hear Your Opinion?

June 24, 2018
Brad Graber
Growing Older, Whimsical Observations on Life

Back in the 1980s, I attended a seminar at the University of Michigan. It was an insightful week. We learned about market research, market analysis, and how to create a marketing plan. But the most powerful message wasn’t about the tools. It was about the Baby Boomers. The people who had the purchasing power. And the message was clear. Young people spend money. Lots of money. Which is why advertisers create messages skewered to a younger audience.

Baby Boomers

That once youthful market of Baby Boomers (26% of the United States population), is now well beyond middle-age. Each day, 10,000 Boomers turn 65. 65! Now, it’s true that you can still be a youthful 60-something. You can exercise regularly, be sharp-witted, and read voraciously. And you can look fabulous. But there is no way you can really consider yourself young. Well, you can, but you might be the only one.

Silence is Golden

Now, I like being older. Maybe because when I was younger, things didn’t always go so well. There were lots of personal challenges to work through. Troubling times that inspired insecurity and doubt. Oh, I still have those moments. I’m sure we all do. But at least now, I understand such feelings are momentary. If age offers wisdom—we learn that not every misstep in life is a calamity. Age helps put that lesson into perspective.

Oh, But How I’ve Missed You!

Pop the champagne! Sound the bugles. I’m back. There, I Said It! is once again up and running after a few weeks of hiatus. Did I run out of things to say? Was I hobbled by a broken finger, unable to type? Did my agile mind have a momentary slip? No. Not at all. But I did launch a new novel and let me just say, it was a bit distracting.

A New Novel?

Hopefully, by now you’ve heard about the new novel, After the Fall, and maybe, even seen the book trailer. Yes, I know. It’s a very common title. If you go on Amazon, there are pages and pages of similarly named books. But fortunately, there is only one Brad Graber, the author. And that is the easiest way to find the novel. Just type my name in the Amazon search box. But if you’re still stuck, you can always go to my website at bradgraber.com and click the “order now” button by the novel’s cover. It will take you directly to my Amazon page. Or, if you prefer, you can buy the novel online through Barnes & Noble or the Apple Store for iBooks. There are lots of options.

How Did I Come Up with the Story?

There’s always a seed of truth. Something that triggers the creation of the novel. For instance, before I wrote The Intersect, Jeff and I had talked about leaving Phoenix so that I could pursue other job opportunities. When we decided to stay, and I opted for early retirement, it occurred to me that such a scenario might lead to tension in a relationship. So, I created Dave and Charlie and just stood back while they cascaded. I also was missing my mother. Ding dong—is that the front door? Oh hello, Daisy. Combine that beginning with my interest in elder abuse, undocumented immigration, and teen homelessness, and we’re off and running. So that’s kind of a snapshot of how the creative process works for me.

Relationships

By now, you probably know that I like to write about people, relationships, and the cultural and political climate. I’m less concerned about a specific age group than I am about how we react in different situations. It’s kind of like the ABC show, “What Would You Do?”. I’m fascinated by the choices we make, which is how I come up with the twists and turns for each story. That’s what sparks my imagination, and hopefully, if I do a decent job, you’re in on the fun.

A Great Summer Read!

So a big thank you for kindly supporting this second novel. And just in case you haven’t purchased your copy of After the Fall, here is the book trailer. Check it out.

Where Are All These Darn Pillows Coming From?

Can it be that pillows are like rabbits? Turn your back for a moment and suddenly two become four? Four become six? Six become eight?. That certainly is how it seems to work in our house. Without even trying, we’ve managed to collect enough pillows to fill a closet. All sorts of pillows. Sofa pillows and decorative bed pillows in every shade and color. Pillows to lay your head down at night. Pillows to support your back. King, queen, and regular sizes. All stuffed in one closet. Loaded in so tightly, I can’t open the door without pillows tumbling out.

Why Pillows?

We have friends who collect pottery. Some, fine glass. Go to their homes, the pottery and glass are on display. Others, own wonderful artwork. Some are even talented artists. They have lovely oils and charcoals mounted on the walls. A few friends are obsessed with fine china. Sets and sets of dishes that they keep away from the dishwasher even though they enjoy them during the holiday season. Others love Indian artwork. Okay, I get it. It’s wonderful to have beautiful things. Especially if they’re family heirlooms. That all makes sense to me. But why pillows?

I Blame the Moving Company

We’ve moved around a lot in the last few years. Detroit to San Francisco, and then on to Phoenix. Each time, we’ve hired movers to pack us up. At first, it was because we were too busy with our careers to do the packing ourselves. Then, it was because we were saving our strength for unpacking. Finally, it was sheer laziness, And somehow, along the way, the pillows began to pile up. New sofas, new bedding, and inattention to sorting through the excess.