Why I Love Phoenix Archives | Brad Graber | The Intersect

Why Are Giant Blueberries Flying Around the Backyard?

Growing up in New York City, you learn to cope with pigeons, mice, and waterbugs. Mostly, you run in the opposite direction. Some people have even been known to scream. Loudly. And yet, nature can be a wonderous thrill. Who doesn’t love a hike in the great outdoors? Until you come upon a “Beware of Bears” sign. That’s when some of us are easily persuaded to stay off the trail.

Home?

Now in Phoenix, we’re currently suffering through triple-digit temperatures. There’s very little outdoor activity during the day except for the occasional dip in the pool. And even that is time-limited. Thirty minutes outside is tops for the old eyeballs in the peak of the heat. After that, they burn. So, we’re forced to enjoy nature from inside our air-conditioned quarters.

Nature Abounds

Two hummingbirds live on our property and love our hummingbird feeder. At times, it feels like we rent from them. A few months back, one flew in the house seeking a shortcut to the backyard. Fortunately, we have tall glass sliders. We just opened those doors and our intruder found its way back outside. I’ve since learned to keep the doors closed at all times. After all, we’re not running a bird sanctuary. Or are we?

Nests

We have a large tree out front which is perfect for nesting birds. There’s a lot dropping out of that tree and I don’t mean leaves. I’ve used binoculars to spy on the activities, excited to see nesting doves. And though I’ve been tempted, I’ve yet to turn my binoculars on the neighbors. What would be the point? It’s hot out. Everyone has their curtains closed. Not that I noticed.

Insects

Carpenter Bees float like giant blueberries in the backyard. Wasps, like tiny helicopters, glide down to drink from the pool. We have our seasonal ducks. Sometimes behaving in shocking ways. One year, two males and a female were mating outback. We of course diverted our eyes though it was hard to miss the ruckus.

Predators

And I guess the menagerie wouldn’t be complete without giant owls. We’ve spotted one on our driveway at night. And lately, a neighbor’s cat has been wandering the property. I’m praying that the cat doesn’t run into the owl. I’ve never owned a cat, but I don’t think I’d let it roam outside. But then, I’m a scaredy-cat.

Animal Planet

During stressful times, I’ve learned that nature can provide a welcome distraction. A lesson not lost on a former New Yorker. Even if you’re just looking out the window.

Added Bonus

This month What’s That Growing in My Sour Cream? will be part of a Funny Books promotion. After the Fall will be participating in a Young Adult Coming of Age promotion running from August 4th through the 11th. If you get a chance, please take a moment to check out these promotions. And please stay safe. Your health is so very important.

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?

Ten More Tips For A Happy LIfe

A few months back, I wrote a blog about being happy. Now for those of you who personally know me, that might come as a surprise. I don’t put out that kind of energy. I’m not a happy-go-lucky type of guy. I’m more of a worrier. Like Dave in my debut novel. The Intersect, I tend to live in the land of regret. Always looking backward and wondering if I’ve made the right choices.

Glass Half Full?

Now don’t get me wrong. It’s not that I’ve never experienced happiness. I have. But I think the problem may be my expectation of what happiness feels like. For instance, on a good day, when everything is clicking, I feel calm and relaxed. No—I’m not smiling from ear to ear—running around giving hugs—laughing wildly. Instead, there is a sense that I’m on the right path. I experience happiness as an inner satisfaction. Nothing to fret about today? Ahh. Good day. Me happy.

So How Do I keep My Spirits Up?

It takes work. And mostly, I try to remember:

There’s humor to be had in everything we do. Look for the funny side. And if something strikes your funny bone, share it. Laughter is contagious. It attracts people to you. Just like a good cologne.
Don’t be afraid to show emotion. People feel closer to you when they experience you as real. And yes, crying is necessary. Tears are healing. But be judicious. The cashier at the “10 items or less” line at the supermarket has only so much time to listen to your woes. Trust me. I know from personal experience.
Be more like Fred Astaire. Dance when you’re alone. It lifts your spirits. Even if you’re as clumsy as an ox, it’s a great way to cheer yourself up as well as entertain the dog.
Mirrors are best enjoyed when you make silly faces. So go ahead and make a face. Then think about which member of your family you look like. I can make the same faces as my late grandfather. It’s always nice to see him staring back at me.
Laugh lines enhance your natural good looks. At the very least, they add character. So let them be.
Exercise is invigorating. Until it isn’t. Allow your body time to heal before you blow out your knee —hip—elbow—lower back—Achilles tendon.
If you don’t like the way you look, stop looking at yourself. Turn your gaze to someone you love and enjoy the view.
Writing a letter can be therapeutic. Seeing a trained therapist is far more effective. What we pay for tends to hold greater value.
Loving yourself may be the most important lesson of all. But acting like the center of the universe, well, no one likes that.

And now…

Something for the soul. Tip #10. You become what you focus on. Years ago, I decided to become a writer and I kept that dream firmly in mind. You too can be and do anything you want. It’s all within your reach. Well, not immediately—but with persistence. So, if you don’t like what’s going on in your life, choose again. Anything is possible.

Here a Psychic, There a Psychic, Everywhere, a Psychic, Psychic

Phoenix has been overrun. And I’m not referring to ants. Though, if you leave food on your counters—ants will surely show up. I’m referring to psychics. In Phoenix, there seems to be one on every corner. Find a Starbucks—find a psychic. Tarot cards, horoscopes, palm and aura readings. The gifted must love the warm weather.

Calling the dead. Calling the dead. Come in, the dead.

On television, there’s been an explosion of psychic talent. Theresa Caputo from Long Island says she can connect to the other side. Heck, I grew up in Queens which is technically on Long Island. No one seemed psychic back then. Crazy, yes. But psychic? No. And then there’s baby-faced Tyler Henry. He provides readings to television’s reality stars. He promises that he has no idea who these Hollywood celebrities are. Frankly, neither do I. I guess I should buy a copy of People every now and then.

A True Believer Wrapped in a Cynic’s Soul

But don’t be fooled. I want to believe. In fact, I’m hoping to be convinced. I want to know that my loved ones are looking out for me. I want to trust that we can speak to our dearly departed. That somehow, through the process of crossing-over, they’ve become more loving, enlightened, and accepting. Gosh. That would be a dream come true. Did I say dream?

And Now for the Skeptic

So, why would I need a third-party to contact my loved ones? God knows they were never shy when they were alive. I’m sure if I just stop and listen, I can hear their voices in my head. My mother would want me to know that she loves me and is proud. My father would apologize for behaving like such an ass after marrying that wealthy widow. I can hear them now. Now, when all of that would have no impact on my life. Or would it? Hmm. Anyone know a good psychic?

Why Is There So Much Movie Violence?

It’s a perfectly lovely summer day in Phoenix and I’ve just returned from the movies where we go to retreat from the heat once we’ve dried off from our dip in the pool. But today, I feel rattled, unnerved, unsettled. We’ve just seen a supposed comedy masquerading as an action picture. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not a wuss. It’s amazing what they can create on film with special effects. The Titanic sinking. New York City flooded. San Francisco imploding. I get it. They’re spectacles for sure. But what is it with all the violence? Human beings being mowed down in a bloody shooting spree. Body parts chopped off, flying through the air. The continuous violence goes on and on. And that’s just the previews.

The Three Stooges

When I was growing up, violence was limited to The Three Stooges. Three knuckleheads who couldn’t stop hitting each other. Yes, we laughed. Pies in the face, okay. Punches to the gut, poking at the eyes, followed by a hammer to someone’s head? Looking back, I wonder why more kids didn’t kill their siblings using The Three Stooges as a defense. But Moe whacked Curley with an iron skillet. Larry never cried when his head was slammed into the wall. Moe seemed fine after he fell out the window.

I Know the Violence Isn’t Real

Back then, it all seemed innocent. It was done for comic relief. But today, the violence feels intensely real. There’s nothing comedic about it. Your body tenses up. It’s like being on a thrill ride, except it goes on and on. Am I in the minority on this? Surely Hollywood isn’t in the business of making movies no one wants to see. They’re merely feeding the box office. Or are they?

Is Our Society Out of Control?

Anyone who wants to get all revved up can just turn to the news or social media to quicken their heartbeat. When I go to the movies, I’d prefer to escape. A love story would be nice. A romcom to make me laugh and remember how wonderful falling in love can be. Maybe, a movie that sparks the intellect. How about a thoughtful biography? Or a tale of friendship? Honestly, I’m already exhausted from the rancor that is our daily diet in America. I’d like to give my fight or flight response a rest. Wouldn’t you? Wouldn’t most Americans?

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.

The Game of Life: What’s Your Score?

There’s been a strange turn in our local newspaper, the Arizona Republic. Let me explain. They’ve recently relocated the obituaries to the back of the sports section. Yes, that’s right. You can now check game scores while you peruse the passing of your neighbors. How convenient!

Smile for the camera

The redesign of the obits started weeks ago. First, they enlarged the photographs. I get it. You want to see the face of your loved one. But most of the photographs aren’t professionally shot. The enhanced size looks grainy. And as we older folks know, it’s hard to capture a flattering photograph. We need proper lighting and a bit of photoshopping. Aunt Gert looks as if she was caught by surprise. Uncle Milton seems to be in the middle of chewing. So why, for heaven’s sake (I had to throw that in), make the photograph larger?

The whole thing has got me thinking (uh oh)

By placing the obits in the sports section, is the Arizona Republic confirming that life is but a game and there are winners and losers? Is your age at the time of death the ultimate score? If you’ve reached 80, 90, or 100—have you officially won—making death the eternal booby prize? Or, are the winners determined by the length of the obituary and the scads of relatives who adored you (though they never came to visit)? Does your obit dominate the page, attracting the most attention? And if you’re dead, does any of this truly matter?

I guess winner is a relative term

Few obits seem to provide the most interesting highlights from a life well-lived. I’m not referring to the marriages or the children or even the jobs held. Those are facts. Our lives are shaped by our challenges, hardships, and lessons learned. If you were a parent, what tips can you pass on about raising children? If you were a caretaker for an elderly parent, how did you sustain your enthusiasm? If you succeeded in business, what secrets did you learn about working with people? Just imagine what a terrific read that might be. To capture a snapshot of the living, breathing, thinking human being—and not just some vital statistics.

Smartphone Etiquette – Stop Looking at Your Damn Phone

pexels photo 2 e1501454968767 - Smartphone Etiquette - Stop Looking at Your Damn Phone It has finally happened. I was at dinner with friends and within five minutes of being seated, we were all looking down at our smartphones—Googling, Facebooking, and God only knows what else.

Nomo what?

Nomophobia (fear of being without your mobile phone—no mobile—nomo—get it?) is the new frontier of addiction. It’s so sad. Time lost with loved ones because our attention has wandered to the technology in our hand.

I’ve heard it said that the generation raised with smartphones is struggling with the development of their social skills. To be honest, it hasn’t done much for people my age either. We now all text. It’s so much easier than having a real conversation. And Facebook gives us the false sense that we’re in touch, even though you can’t actually touch anyone. Facebook friends create the illusion that we’re loved or important or part of something bigger than ourselves. In reality—we’re really sitting alone—observing other people’s lives. I guess that’s better than nothing.

I’ve fallen into the trap

To be a successful writer, we’re told to expand our reach. People need to know who we are in order to trust that they might enjoy our work. I doubt Hemingway or Fitzgerald had an ongoing relationship with their public—but then, I’m no Hemingway or Fitzgerald. Still, can you imagine those two literary giants texting? Now, Dorothy Parker—she’d have excelled at tweeting in 140 characters. Still, being witty 24/7 is a challenge for any modern author. Best to say nothing at all. At least then you can retain some semblance of quiet intelligence.

Wouldn't You Really Rather … ?

auto car cadillac oldtimer e1501425093820 - Wouldn't You Really Rather ... ? I finally bought a new car. It nearly killed me. I know that for many people purchasing a new car is a thrill, but to me, it’s a journey to the land of confusion. Too many models….too many choices. And to be honest, if you haven’t guessed it by now, I’m not a car person. Oh, don’t get me wrong. I’m not much for hitchhiking or taking mass transit. You really can’t do either living in Phoenix. But today’s cars all seem to look alike. I guess I’m what you might call car blind.

Do I need to pick a color too?

I test drove a lot of vehicles over a number of months (please don’t gasp—I already admitted I don’t know what I’m doing). It was an odd experience. Mostly because the person sitting next to me (the salesman/woman) was a total stranger. Someone whose very livelihood depended on my decision. And being a sensitive guy, I had a gnawing feeling that if I didn’t buy the car, their job might be on the line. So, I made nervous small talk and hoped against hope that I would like the car. But I mostly didn’t.

I’m a throw back

I guess I’m really not much for the 2017 models. I like old things. Turner Classic Movies, pies made from scratch, antiques, and yes … car museums with Studebakers and Packards. For some reason, I have a yen to own a big, shiny, gas guzzler from the 30s and 40s. I get that they weren’t good for the environment, lacked safety features, and probably drove like tanks. But anything less seems to be—well—less. That’s how you see the world when you’re car blind.