So we get away to Acapulco to relax and watch the ocean. Sunday night around 7 p.m. we’re sipping a cocktail at the outdoor lounge when suddenly the drinks start dancing on the table. Then the table starts doing the shimmy across the floor. Damn, I must give up drinking. Then my chair begins to move around. ¡Carumba! It’s an earthquake!We debated the choices: run for higher ground to avoid a tsunami, but our passports and cash are locked in the safe in the room. But if the power goes out we can’t get into the room or open the safe. Then we would be trapped on the fifth floor as it crashed down. The best and most logical choice: stay put and finish our drinks.I didn’t sleep a wink that night because I was worried about earthquakes, tsunamis, and the fried tortilla that could send me running to the bathroom. We learned the next day that it was a 5.6 earthquake centered in Mexico City. Safe for another day, at least. We celebrated, of course, at the seaside cantina.
Today’s Cabernet
Today’s blog was fueled by a potent glass of 2000 Brunello di Montalcino from Castello Banfi in Italy. I love Brunello. It’s a vibrant explosion of flavors that include licorice, cherry, and spices. You can find it at Costco for $38 and more at wine shops. But let it breathe at least an hour. If you don’t have patience and need an instant sip, it will taste and smell like warm swamp water.
Midlife Cabernet: My Mirror Doesn’t Work
When my eyesight became weaker, I purchased a new lighted mirror with a 10X magnification so I could apply mascara without guessing the actual location of my eyelashes. The first time I looked into the mirror I screamed and jumped back in horror because there was a ghastly old woman staring back at me! I want my money – and my face – returned!
The illuminated, colossal reflection exaggerated the erratic road map of lines, wrinkles, and crevices that sprouted around my eyes like jagged lightning bolts surrounding deep, bloodshot sinkholes. Why didn’t someone tell me my face resembled a damp shirt that been forgotten in the dryer? At least my friends also have failing eyesight so they may not even notice.
I flipped the mirror over to the normal view and was relieved because my poor vision couldn’t detect any flaws. I prefer that side now. For security and insecurity purposes, I have taped a warning label into the magnified side of the mirror.
It’s called a vanity mirror for a reason, but I refuse to channel my inner Queen of the Snow White movie and ask the mirror on the wall who is the fairest one of all. I know the answer and not even a flamboyant skit by the jolly Seven Dwarfs could make me laugh now because that would just add more unwanted lines.
After surviving the shock of magnified reality, I looked again at my eyes. These green orbs have been dilated, examined, and corrected since I was ten years old. They have peered from dozens of ugly frames that included cat-eyes with rhinestones, black square nerd glasses, and delicate rimless beauties that cost a month’s mortgage and broke every time I sneezed. My eyes survived surgery for holes in both retinas and continued to work after a failed attempt at laser treatment. Best of all, these irreplaceable body parts have allowed me to write and read books and to see the wonders of the world.
These eyes cried with joy when I held my precious babies, widened with amazement when I visited 32 countries around the world, leaked buckets over physical and mental pain, and focused with passion as I stared into my husband’s loving eyes. Six decades of visions are stored within my memories as on-demand movies after a life full of adventure, tears, and laughter that I have been privileged to see and experience. I have earned each and every line around these well-worn eyes, and I intend to earn many more.
Next week I’ll don my newest pair of spectacles and prepare the list for our family Thanksgiving dinner. I’ll check favorite recipes and pull out the good dishes and silverware. I’ll arrange festive pumpkins and colorful leaves into a happy centerpiece and imagine the cacophony coming from the children’s table. Then on the day of the grand feast I’ll witness the generations gathered around the tables squabbling over the last drumstick. With the blessed ability to see, I’ll give thanks for the abundant vision before me.
Today’s blog was fueled by a 2011 Jacuzzi Barbera from Mendocino County, California. I found this complex and vibrant wine on a recent trip to wine country and recommend the explosion of tastes with flavors of blackberry, raspberry, strawberry, and vanilla. Preview their wines at www.jacuzziwines.com. And, it’s okay to pair red wine with turkey.
Humor in the Workplace
Here’s the link to my article that recently was printed in a national business publication. The introduction is:Humor in the Workplace: How to Get Serious about LaughterBy Elaine AmbroseDid you hear the joke about the priest, the prostitute, and the politician who walked into the employee break room? Probably not. While there is a time and a place for jokes, it’s a bad idea to attempt to be funny at work with stories featuring religion, sexuality, or politics. However, a well-timed anecdote about the befuddled customer who forgot his address can be the perfect icebreaker to dispel tension in a serious staff meeting. While timing should be considered, experts agree that laughter in the workplace can be a real asset to profitability and productivity. Humor in the Workplace
Midlife Cabernet: Will my Power Cord Work in a Cave?
I’m being pressured to throw away all electronic devices and go live in a cave in the forest. The one instigating the rebellion is the tiny voice that sporadically echoes through the cob webs in my middle-aged brain and whispers, “They’re all out to destroy you. Run away now.”
The current wave of frustration was caused by a few exasperating problems: my credit card number was fraudulently taken and used to purchase sports equipment in Delaware and a tourist trip to Australia. Then my cell phone died. Then my computer got a virus and went black while I was working on an important project. If I lived in a cave, I’d never experience these annoyances.
It took several days to deal with the issues. My computer returned from the repair shop with a perfect screen and a hefty repair bill. The credit card company canceled the card and the debts, and my cell phone just needed to be recycled. A 10-year-old child could have handled all these problems while simultaneously creating a video and texting 100 of her/his closest friends.
It’s a challenge to keep up with technology, especially because I grew up thinking a keyboard was on a piano, a ram was in the pasture, a cookie was something to eat, and the one telephone in the house was attached to the wall. I wrote papers and short stories on a manual typewriter and was positively giddy to get an IBM Selectric typewriter. Now I take my Ipad on vacation and input, format, copy, and insert my blog with attached pictures onto the World Wide Web. Amazing.
All this marvelous technology that allows me to instantly research facts, pay bills online, book an airline flight, and watch a video on my cell phone also attracts evil scoundrels who steal credit card numbers and send malicious viruses through the Internet. The answer is to spend more time with my small grandchildren. They know how to download an app for that.
Midlife Cabernet: You want Dinner EVERY Night?
I grew up on a farm, so dinner was thrown on the table after the chores were done. My mother’s weekly menu included baked hams, turkeys, beef roasts, and chickens accompanied with side dishes of mashed potatoes, gravy, creamed peas, buttered corn, bread, and cobbler. With ice cream. The quantity surpassed the quality, but we were not undernourished or skinny.
I worked outside the home when my kids were little, so dinner was whatever I could concoct before bedtime. “Look kids, we get chicken nuggets again tonight! Let’s arrange them in a marching band through the ketchup!” One evening all I could find was a pound of sausage so I made the ever-popular SOS – browned meat with flour and milk poured over toast. With an opened jar of peaches and some straggly carrots, we covered the four basic food groups.
Now my grown daughter is health conscious, and her children eat perfect portions of organic food. My granddaughter recently asked me if I had some kale, and I had to do a quick search on the Internet to discover what she meant. “No kale here, Sweetheart. Would you like a cookie?”
I don’t like having the pressure to be the best cook. With the right motivation or holiday, I can whip up a delicious prime rib roast or an authentic Italian chicken parmesan. But it’s the daily expectation of meals that really annoys me.
“You want dinner again tonight? What am I, a short order cook?”
Actually, Studley and I have a reciprocal agreement. One cooks and the other washes dishes. It works for us, and I usually win because when I cook I have a tendency to mess up every pot and pan in the entire kitchen. Then after dinner I sit back with a glass of wine and watch him work. It’s great fun.
