Pepto-Bismol Archives | Page 2 of 6 | Brad Graber | The Intersect

When Standing Back Is Actually Good for You!

Another July 4th has come and gone with all the hoopla the Holiday entails. And though I love fireworks as much as the next guy, it can be very hard on dogs. Our four-legged friends freak when they hear the bombs bursting in air. I, on the other hand, am reminded of a troubling incident from my childhood. Now, it didn’t happen on July 4th and there were no dogs around. It wasn’t even something that directly happened to me. But it caused enough concern that I’ve always been leery about fireworks.

Bottle Rockets

When I was a boy, a friend of mine was hanging around with some older teens who were shooting off bottle rockets. Debris landed in his right eye. He was instantly blinded. And though he and I were friends, I never asked him about that afternoon. Maybe I was afraid of upsetting him. Maybe, I was scared to find out how he really felt. Or maybe, that’s just how kids are. Ignoring the messy details in life. Making do until they grow up.

Memories

Okay. So not all memories are good. But, they can be instructive. For a kid (me) who was already deaf in one ear, the thought of losing sight in an eye was scary. My friend’s accident taught me that life can be unfair. Bad things can happen. Especially, if you’re not paying attention. Like if you’re looking up to watch a bottle rocket go off. You could be blinded. Or maybe walking down a New York City street. You could be mugged. Or perhaps, smelling the roses. There might be a bee nearby.

The Power of Now

So lately, I’ve been reading Eckart Tolle’s, “The Power of Now”. It’s intense. So intense that I seem to be only able to manage a few pages each day as I struggle to absorb the wisdom. But one of the key points is we must not be ruled by time, past and future. Such preoccupation leads to anxiety and dis-ease. Hmm? There may be a lot for me to learn here. I like the idea of freeing oneself from dis-ease. Perhaps that’s the source of my intense snacking habit. In the interim, I will practice looking up the next time fireworks are on display. After all, I just might be standing far enough away for the show to be safe!

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?

Trick or Treat: Step Away from the Candy Bowl!

With Halloween just around the corner, this is the time of year when we make that dreaded purchase. Candy. Lots of candy. It’s on special everywhere. Bags and bags. Gooey, chewy, crunchy, stick to your dental work, stuff. And each year, we try to pick candy that we don’t like. This is hard to do. For each year, we’re reminded that there isn’t much that we actually dislike.

Chocolate vs. Marshmellow

In our house, there are two teams. Chocolate Lovers (me) and Marshmellow Mavens (Jeff). This, of course, means that any candy including either ingredient is out of the running for Halloween. Our philosophy: don’t bring into the house anything that either of us might like to snack on. Standing in front of the candy aisle at the supermarket, we can be overheard having this exact discussion. Small children have been known to shun us.

But Candy is Everywhere

When I go to the bank (notice – I didn’t say the ATM), there is a huge stash of candy to pick through as you wait in line. I think this significantly improves customer service. Especially when I see Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups. God outdid himself the day he prompted H.B. Reese to resign from Hershey and create a new candy company. Combining chocolate and peanut butter is pure genius!

Back to the Supermarket

And so the challenge is once again before us. What should we buy that we won’t eat? In the past, we’ve opted for Butterfingers. Nestle describes the candy as a crunchy peanut butter core covered in chocolate. Sounds delicious. But there is something about the dry texture which bothers me. Plus, it gets all caught up in your teeth like toffee or taffy. Dentists must love it.

But Are We Being Fair to the Little Children?

After all, Halloween is about the kids. Shouldn’t we be giving out candy that we think the little tykes will love? Candy that is truly delicious? M&M’s Plain and Peanut. Milky Ways. Snickers. What can be the harm in buying those wonderful treats?

We All Deserve a Little Halloween Fun

So this year, things will be different. Instead of buying the candy we like the least, we’re going to purchase the candy we love the best. And then, we’ll try to remember to turn on the outside porch lights on October 31st. And no matter how loud the television is blasting, we’ll listen for the doorbell. Heck, we might even stay in that night instead of going to a movie. Who knows? Trick or treat – and the best of the evening to you and yours – and all the little children.

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.