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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.

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.

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.

Late Night Buying Spree…What’s Your Pleasure?

I was up the other night unable to sleep. It happens. Not often, but enough to know that late night television is jammed with 30-minute infomercials. Celebrity promos encouraging us to purchase all sorts of products. From Cindy Crawford’s Meaningful Beauty (let’s just agree the woman is gorgeous and even after 30 years she looks practically the same) to Leandro Carvalho’s (I have no idea who he is but he’s very enthusiastic) Brazilian Butt Lift, which finally answers that burning question of why everyone from Brazil has such a firm hiney.

Stair Stepper

In 1990, before anyone ever heard the name Kardashian, I purchased a mini stair stepper promoted by Bruce Jenner. It looked like a wonderful piece of exercise equipment and sure enough, I stepped my way to the nightly news for three weeks until it started to leak grease all over my carpet. By then, the little stepper was making a high-pitched, whining noise. It sounded like I was killing a cat. I wrote Bruce an angry letter complaining about the poorly built stepper and wondered how an Olympian could ever promote such a piece of junk. Needless to say, he never wrote back. As I learned later, his wife Kris had negotiated the deal. So, in a way, I was an early-adopter of the Kardashian business model. No comment.

And I Should Have Learned My Lesson…But I Didn’t

Next, I fell victim to a very senior Hugh Downs. This was well after his retirement from the prime time news magazine 20/20. He was promoting a two-volume edition of alternative medical treatments. The pitch: cures the pharmaceutical companies don’t want you to know. As a healthcare administrator and part-time hypochondriac, I couldn’t resist. At 2:00 a.m., I placed my order. When the books arrived, they were essentially bundled scientific research papers. Pretty much unreadable to even a guy who had a B.A. in Biology.

Fast Food for a Slow Eater?

It’s true. I eat fast food every now and then. You know the places. Sticky tables, dirty bathrooms, and lots of screaming kids. It happens mostly on road trips. And though I’m a picky eater, I have to admit the food is pretty good. I guess there’s no accounting for taste (I couldn’t resist that little play on words. Forgive me).

What’s the deal with the soda?

Most fast-food joints offer patrons free refills even when sodas are sold in a small, medium or large size. So why would anyone buy a large drink when they can refill the cheaper size? Perhaps it has something to do with walking back to the fountain for a refill. Or maybe folks just prefer the large cup. I’m sure they’ve done lots of market research on this, but frankly, it has me stumped.

Say it’s not true

Now, I don’t particularly like soda. A small cola is more than enough. To be honest, the carbonation gives me heartburn. Or maybe it’s the burger and fries. Thank goodness they don’t offer free refills on the fries. Especially at McDonald’s. Those fries are damn good. But you have to eat them quickly. If you allow them to cool, they take on a rubbery consistency. But piping hot, stand back. It’s french fry time!

Fried chicken … the guilty pleasure

And talking about good, who could resist a bucket of southern fried chicken? Friends rave about Church’s. When I was a kid, fried chicken was the only thing I’d eat at a restaurant. Back then, it was a staple. But in today’s health-conscious world, it’s impossible to find fried chicken on a menu. When we lived in California, there was a Kentucky Fried Chicken in downtown Mill Valley. That particular one, as I recall, was busted twice for drugs. I’m certain that wasn’t part of Colonel Sander’s plan, but with recreational marijuana now approved in California, I can’t imagine a better point of distribution.

Smile … It’s 2018!

It’s the start of another year and I am feeling tremendously energized. For those who know me well, this is an odd turn of events. Typically, I’m miserable this time of year. Not only because there is another Brad birthday looming, and really, who wants to be another year older, but because the notion of the New Year requires us to focus on making some monumental improvement in our lives. That just puts too much pressure on the month of January. Especially when you can choose any time of the year to make improvements. Perhaps, every day. Okay—that’s too much for anyone. But you get my drift.

So why would I be happy?

I’ve never been one to have New Year’s Resolutions. I don’t operate that way. Instead, as issues arise, I like to make changes. It may take me a while to get there, but eventually, I figure out what to do. If you don’t believe me, you can just check with any of my former therapists. Yes, there have been more than one. I’m certain they’d all give me an A-plus rating. I was especially good at timely payment. Which proves that anything can be solved if you throw enough money at it. Mostly, your resolve to make a change.

The author’s journey

But I think the real motivator has been the insurmountable odds of ever being a successful author—and in an odd way—it’s freeing. If it happens, it happens, but it’s so darn unlikely, everyone kind of feels sorry for you. I like that. I like that a lot. Sympathy can be immensely gratifying. And I also love a good challenge. Because when you’re at the bottom—the only way ahead is up—and since everything is still new—it’s very exciting.

Five Thoughts from a Distracted Writer

I’ve been struggling lately with my powers of concentration. I’m not sure if it is an “aging thing” or just that I’ve been distracted by the production of my second novel, After the Fall. Either way, being anxious and uptight doesn’t seem ideal for the flow of one’s creative juices. I don’t drink, though I’d probably benefit from a shot every now and then. But I digress. My point here is that though I’ve been distracted, I’ve continued to spot things along the way that have troubled me. So I thought I’d share them with you today.

Please tell me…

Why isn’t corned beef spelled corn beef? Unless it’s my terrible hearing or lingering New York City accent, I’ve never heard anyone say corned. It just doesn’t happen. And why corned? Is it a nod to peppercorns? Do they even use peppercorns in the preparation? Isn’t that how they make pastrami?

The Holiday Season is Here – Yeah!!!!

The Holiday Season is here again and there is excitement in the air. Lots of parties, Burl Ives singing “Frosty the Snowman,” and the morning temperatures in Phoenix hovering in the fifties. For those experiencing snow and ice, that doesn’t sound too bad. But for those of us who have managed through months of triple digits, fifty degrees is awfully cold. We’ve pulled out our sweaters with the full knowledge that it’s now or never.

Hanukah Anyone?

Growing up in New York City, I really don’t recall a big buzz about Hanukah. It always seemed to be the poor step-sister to Christmas. The gorgeous tree in Rockefeller Center. The Radio City Music Hall Rockettes high-kicking in their Santa suits—but of course Santa wears pants, not tights. There was no big hoop-de-doo around spinning the dreidel—though everyone loved potato pancakes and the Hanukah gelt—those chocolate shaped coins covered in gold foil.

Yes, Christmas is for Everyone

No matter your religion, cultural affiliation, or whether you even believe in God, Christmas is just a magical time. Heck, if Ebeneezer Scrooge can find the true meaning of Christmas, there’s hope for us all. So to everyone reading this today, I wish you the best of the Holiday Season. Chestnuts roasting on an open fire. Sleigh bells ringing. The Hallejuah Chorus. And to my Jewish friends and family, remember that Irving Berlin wrote “White Christmas.” Hey, that holiday spirit is just contagious.

Why is the Television so Darn Loud?

There is something going on in our house. Something inexplicable. The volume on the television is too loud. Until it isn’t. And then, you struggle to understand the words being spoken by the actors.

Yes – I know

If you’ve read my blog, and by the way, thank you for doing so, you know I am deaf in my left ear. 100% deaf since I was two-years-old. A case of pneumonia killed the nerve. Nonetheless, I’m keenly aware of the volume on the television. And if in doubt, I live with someone who can hear perfectly.

Commerce in Action

I realize that when commercials are playing, the volume is always louder. That’s so you can hear the commercial whether you’re in the bathroom or standing in front of an open refrigerator (my two favorite spots during commercial interruptions). Okay, I get it. But what about when you’re streaming Amazon or Netflix? There are no commercials. And still, the music to “Mr. Selfridge” is blaring. If I lower the volume, I can barely make out what anyone is saying. Are they mumbling? Is it their British accent? Or have the actors attended the Marlon Brando School of Mumbling?

Ten Tips for a Happy Life

pexels photo 208165 e1507333616318 - Ten Tips for a Happy Life Years ago I learned an important lesson when someone I dearly loved was dying. If you can throw money at a problem and fix it, then it isn’t really a problem after all. Of course, such a philosophy requires that you’re flush with cash. Line up a roof repair, new hot water tank, and a balloon mortgage, and such wisdom can quickly fly out the door. But I’d bet that you’d be inclined to agree that we all tend to focus too much energy on minor irritations. They’re annoying, yes. But not permanent.

Do As I Say, Not As I Do

So today, I thought I’d share my coping strategies when faced with life’s little bug-a-boos. The things that drive me crazy and the solutions that I’ve devised to let go of the negative energy. I’ll just offer a few for consideration. They’re simple and don’t require much explanation. If they make you smile…then I’ve done my job.

The Golden Ten

When you don’t have time to clean the house—dim the lights. Everything looks better in the dark.
If you hear a rattling in the car while you’re driving—turn up the volume on the radio. That pen rolling around in the glove compartment can wait until you’ve come to a full stop.
Today, everything is made with an embedded computer chip. Before you call India to fix a problem—reboot by shutting down, unplugging, and counting to 30 before plugging back in and trying again.
Brownies, ice cream, and chocolate topping are the fastest cure for the blues. This also works well if you’re bored or lonely.
All of the grocery carts at Walmart have at least one broken wheel. That’s the price you must pay for deep discounts.
No matter how your dog stares into your eyes, he isn’t desperately in love with you. He probably wants to eat, poop, or play. Maybe all three.
Love is not a given. Act loving—and you’re bound to get some loving back. Behave badly—and watch your world turn upside down.
Fear is there to warn us. But then, it likes to play with your head. Face your fears and you might surprise yourself.
Age is all in your mind. Until you ache. Then it’s in your right thumb, left toe and elbow.
Happiness requires that you focus on something other than yourself. True happiness is found in helping others.

Take What You Want…Pitch the Rest

I hope these little truths resonate with you. They’re beliefs I hold dear, though I haven’t always managed to live by them. It’s a funny thing about being human. The next drama always seems to be just around the corner, waiting for us to pick up the script and read our lines. Every now and then, it helps to break the habit. To refuse to play the part. I wish I’d done that more often in my life. I guess there’s still time to learn.