“Midlife Cabernet” Tastes another Award
Midlife Cabernet – Life, Love & Laughter after 50 won First Place in the Nonfiction eBook category from a recent competition sponsored by the North American Book Awards. The program honors distinguished authors and books from across the United States and Canada. Awards will be presented at a gala reception Friday, November 13 in Boise, Idaho.
Midlife Cabernet by Idaho author Elaine Ambrose has earned the following awards:
- Silver Medal for Humor – Independent Publishers Book Award (IPPY)
- First Place for Humor – North American Book Awards
- First Place for eBook – North American Book Awards
- Top Ten Idaho Authors – Idaho Book Awards
- First Place Cover Design – Idaho Book Awards
- #1 Bestseller in Humor on Amazon.com – December 2014 and November 2015
Publishers Weekly wrote that the book is “Laugh-out-loud funny.” Foreword Reviews wrote that Midlife Cabernet is “an argument for joy.” The eBook is on sale for $.99 on five online platforms: Amazon.com Midlife Cabernet, Barnes & Noble Midlife Cabernet, IBooks/ITunes, KOBO, and Google Play.
The Martini Tower with a Twist of Levity
I’ve never met Malin Morin of the City of Groningen in The Netherlands, but I’m confident we’d be best friends. She emailed me a photograph of her holding my book Midlife Cabernet in front of the Martini Tower. Obviously, she has excellent appreciation for comedic literature.
I was intrigued by Malin and wanted to know more about a tower named after a sophisticated funnel of cold vodka, so I researched the history of the beautiful building. The bell tower was constructed with a Catholic church during the 15th century, more than 500 years ago. It was named for the patron saint, St. Martin, so nothing was shaken or stirred in the dedication. The tower is 318 feet tall, contains a 62-bell carillon, and houses one of the largest Baroque organs in Europe. I see no reason why I shouldn’t travel there to meet and celebrate with Malin.
Her email contained delightful comments, so I’m exploiting them as a positive book review.
“I just loved the book. I read it on a recent flight and was making stupid sounds trying to suppress laughs, and people sitting in the seats around me were giving me the evil eye.”
To cause the evil eye in Europe is a great claim to fame for me. I’m now on a mission to provoke irritated glances throughout the world. I’ve already achieved documented success with that goal in the United States.
Malin also included a photograph taken in front of a local Dutch pub. If you can’t enjoy a bold Cabernet, you might as well swill a cold Heineken while reading about the joys of getting older and loving the journey. She ended her email with an invitation to visit her and noted that her family’s wine cellar is “stocked with Cabernet and other goodies.” Indeed, we will become best friends.
As I researched information about the Martini Tower, I discovered a recipe for the authentic Amsterdam Martini Cocktail. I share the details as a gesture to promote international education and foster good will among all peoples. The recipe calls for 2.5 ounces of Coca Liqueur, 2 ounces of citrus-flavored Vodka, the juice of ½ lime, and ice cubes. Shake well, strain into a chilled cocktail glass, and garnish with an olive. Sip while reading Midlife Cabernet in the market square in front of the Martini Tower. (I made up that last part.)
Here’s one final tidbit I discovered from my research. St. Martin was born more than 2,000 years ago and traveled extensively throughout Europe sharing Christianity which, at the time, still was a minor faith. He’s best known for sharing his cloak with a poor man and is called the patron saint of beggars. Because his celebration occurs near the grape harvest, he’s also a patron saint of vintners. He also worked with St. Ambrose from Italy, and I’m sure he was my ancestor. I feel called to honor them by traveling to Europe, sharing my coat, and savoring local wines.
Cheers, Malin. I’m searching for my passport.
Speaking at the 2016 Erma Bombeck Writers’ Workshop
I am thrilled to be included with the distinguished faculty for the 2016 Erma Bombeck Writers’ Workshop scheduled for March 31-April 2, 2016 in Dayton, Ohio.
Other speakers include Jenny Lawson, New York Times bestselling author and author of “The Bloggess,” NPR humorist Roy Blount Jr, bestsellling novelist Amy Ephron, feminist scholar and humor writer Gina Barreca, bestselling humor writer Judy Carter, and stand-up comedian Leighann Lord.
Erma Bombeck’s syndicated column, “At Wit’s End,” appeared in more than 900 newspapers. She wrote 12 books, nine of which made The New York Times’ Bestsellers List. Bombeck also appeared regularly ABC-TV’s Good Morning America for 11 years. She was still writing her column for Universal Press Syndicate and developing a new book for HarperCollins Publishers when she died from complications of a kidney transplant on April 22, 1996.
Bombeck attended the University of Dayton and credits the university for launching her writing career. The University Alumni Association co-sponsors the biennual Erma Bombeck Writers’ Workshop, drawing hundreds of aspiring and professional humor and human interest writers from across the country.
Registration for the 2016 workshop opens at noon on December 1. Spaces are limited, and the last conference sold out within 12 hours.
2016 Bombeck workshop faculty
Elaine Ambrose
Elaine Ambrose is an author, syndicated blogger and humorist from Eagle, Idaho, who writes for The Huffington Post, BlogHer, HumorOutcasts and Midlife Boulevard. Her 2014 book, Midlife Cabernet: Life, Love and Laughter After 50, won two national humor awards. Publishers Weekly called the book “laugh-out-loud funny.” In all, she has authored or co-authored 10 books, including Menopause Sucks, a national bestseller that helps middle-aged women learn and laugh instead of break something. In 2003, she founded Mill Park Publishing, which self-publishes books and offers women’s writing retreats.
Workshops
Write Funny, Now! (one time only)
Elaine Ambrose
Experience the serious work of humor writing. In this interactive session geared to beginning writers, participants will learn how to use various types of humor to deliver humorous lines and grab readers. Participants will read a sampling of Erma Bombeck’s columns, discuss why certain lines are hilarious, share their own on-the-spot work and interact with others to improve their writing.
Turn Your Blog Into a Book (one time only)
Elaine Ambrose
This session focuses on the nuts and bolts of creating a self-published book from your best blogs. You will learn how to compile and format chapters, hire professional designers to create the cover and layout, hire editors to read your manuscript, obtain reviews for the cover, purchase an ISBN number and bar code, and submit to print sources such as CreateSpace to produce a paperback and e-book for mass distribution. Targeted to experienced writers who have written at least 100 blogs or 10,000 words of a manuscript.
Don’t Bake a Mouse in a Cake
My blossom on the youthful tree of life was not attractive. By age 11, I was a near-sighted, left-handed, gangly, goofy girl with wrinkly hair and absolutely no ability to conform. Outside of chores, the only activity for youth in the southern Idaho farming community of 1,000 people was a program called 4-H. The organization for youth was led by adult volunteers who promoted the four personal areas of focus: head, heart, hands, and health. Desperately hoping to help me focus and find some element of usefulness, my mother enrolled me in a 4-H cooking class with the admonition that I behave and not embarrass her. I failed on both assignments.
Twelve pre-teen girls enrolled in the 4-H club, and the leader had the meetings in her home. I usually sat on the floor so I wouldn’t disturb the meticulous décor. The couches were covered in bright floral chintz with coordinated fabric covering the matching side chairs. Festive garden-themed wallpaper featuring red velvet roses covered the walls, and pictures of pastoral scenes hung in gilded frames. A carved clock ticked softly on the polished marble mantel. I still had traces of manure on my shoes and didn’t belong in such a regal setting.
Each club member was required to do a cooking demonstration, and I practiced at home for weeks before it was my turn. I wasn’t thrilled about the assignment to make a lemon cake but I had promised my mother I would do it. I assembled my recipe, ingredients, and supplies and reluctantly stood in front of the group.
“Elaine, will now complete the demonstration for a delicious cake,” the leader said as she read from her manual to the group of wiggly girls. “Pay close attention to her technique and remember that we can all learn from this effective method as we increase our attentiveness and observe problem-solving procedures. Someday, you will have the privilege of cooking for your own family.”
I donned my hand-stitched apron and carefully positioned my pre-arranged supplies and ingredients on the kitchen counter.
“You must use a sturdy, large bowl for this batter,” I said, feeling wise and competent. “And a wooden spoon is necessary for proper mixing.”
I dumped the ingredients into the bowl and began to stir. The leader watched intently and made serious comments on my evaluation page. A few of my friends giggled with anticipation because they suspected I would deviate from proper protocol. I couldn’t disappoint them, so I added a new twist to my demonstration.
“Sometimes an added ingredient can be fun for the recipe,” I said. Then I reached into my pocket, pulled out a dead mouse I had found earlier in the barn, and dropped it into the cake batter. I stirred solemnly and waited for the mayhem. Some of the girls shrieked, others covered their mouths in horror, and the rest looked at the leader for her reaction. I just kept on stirring, naively thinking I would be commended for introducing a brilliant way to spice up the dull meeting. I imagined receiving a trophy on stage at some worldwide 4-H conference.
I underestimated the leader’s rage. On the verge of tears, she grabbed the bowl and tossed it into the back yard, knocking over one of her prized begonia plants. I could see the tail of the little mouse sticking up from the batter. This wasn’t my finest hour. I realized I probably wasn’t ready to have the privilege of cooking for my own family and definitely hadn’t observed problem-solving procedures or improved the group’s head, heart, hands, or health.
The leader called my mother and demanded that she immediately get me, and I was ordered to stand outside and wait. A few minutes later, my beleaguered mother maneuvered the station wagon in front of the house and rushed to the door. She didn’t look at me, and she suddenly seemed older. As my mortified mother offered profuse apologies to the leader, I slipped into the back seat of the car and tried to be contrite. I heard the leader say that I was never allowed in her house again and that I was kicked out of the 4-H club. Forever.
I never did retrieve our nice, heavy mixing bowl. My mother was humiliated and refused to consider the humor in the situation. I still feel bad about the incident because it caused her shame within the community and irritated a good woman. The next day, I was sent to the potato field to pull sunflowers. I didn’t mind because I didn’t need to scrape off my shoes or sit quietly in a room with red velvet wallpaper. Sometimes, though, I still stifle a snicker.
Memories of Mom
My mother died 12 months ago today, so we’ve experienced a year of birthdays, holidays, and family gatherings without her. I knew the year anniversary was coming and naively anticipated that its passing would mysteriously make everything all better. I was wrong.
Just when I thought the emotional whirlwind was over, another memory of her smacked me in the heart and caused my eyes to spontaneously water. I’ve never been this emotional before, and I struggle between wanting to weep or pulling up my big girl pants and pretending to be tough. Sometimes it’s exhausting to be the strong one.
To prepare for inevitable meltdowns, here are some common occurrences that can cause an unpredictable sensitive reaction after a loved one dies.
The impulse to call. Mom was the consummate keeper of things: she wrote lists, filled ledgers, and clipped newspaper columns. Our refrigerator was plastered with Erma Bombeck’s witty stories. I recently was invited to be a speaker at the prestigious Erma Bombeck Writer’s Workshop in 2016. My immediate thought was to call my mom because she’d be so happy. Then I remembered.
A certain song. I was happily shopping for groceries when the song “Que Sera, Sera” by Doris Day played over the sound system. My mother used to sing the song when I was a wee toddler, and I remember the sounds of, “Whatever will be, will be.” I stood there in the soup aisle with tears streaming down my face.
Photographs. I’m still sorting her possessions, and found hundreds of photographs I’ve never seen. One fascinated me. It showed my parents as happy young lovers before they married and before hard work, illness, and heartache stole their laughter and weakened the light in their eyes. I wish I had known them.
Holiday memories. Mom was widowed at age 62, so she came to my house for 25 Christmas celebrations. When my children were young, we took her to a holiday movie on Christmas Day. We had to discontinue the tradition because she always talked out loud to the actors on the screen. “Don’t do that!” she would warn the characters. “Look at them dance!” she would exclaim. The kids would shrink down in their seats as other movie patrons glared at us.
Her example of strength and resiliency. She loved to tell stories of her childhood; how her sisters and she rode a horse to a one-room school, how she hand-milked cows before and after school, and how she worked in the fields throughout her childhood. My children tried not to complain after that, and they had a deep love and affection for the one they called Grandma Sweetie.
Favorite recipes. I continue to add mustard seeds in soups and any dish that requires boiling. Mom always added the seeds because of her belief in the Biblical parable of having the faith of a mustard seed. Through recipes, photographs, and stories, we keep her memory alive for the great-grandchildren.
Locations. I regularly drive past the assisted living facility where she lived before she died. I ache with remorse remembering how she clutched my hand each time I started to leave. I should have stayed longer.
Legacy. Mom didn’t have the money or opportunity to attend college, but she was a strong advocate for education. She established the Ambrose Family Scholarship at the University of Idaho, and this year six students from Wendell, Idaho received scholarships.
Emotional release through humor. A week after her death, I wrote a blog post titled “My Mother’s Body Got Lost.” The story described the true account of how the funeral home misplaced her for the weekend but then found her in a hearse traveling “near Bliss.” Bliss is a tiny town near her burial site. My response was, “Of course, she is!” The post was selected as a winning entry in the national BlogHer competition, and I was honored in New York as part of the “Voices of the Year” celebration. She continues to inspire my writing, and several of my blog posts about her were published on The Huffington Post.
Redemption. A few months ago, I was having a difficult time with the memory of how much my mother had suffered physically and emotionally. I sought professional help, and the gentle, wise counselor led me through a guided imagery exercise that restored my spirit. My mother came to me in a vision. She was young and happily playing with two little girls in a meadow. They were my sisters, my twin Arlene and another sister Carol. These babies never had the opportunity to breathe. The vivid scene of her radiant joy gives me peace.
The unexpected triggers continue to meander in and out of my life. After a year, the pain has eased, and I know she is in a better place. I hope someday to meet Arlene and Carol, and we’ll all play together in the meadow, scatter some mustard seeds, and sing, “Whatever will be, will be.”
