Elaine Ambrose

Bestselling Author, Ventriloquist, & Humorist

You are here: Home / Archives for Elaine Ambrose

Elaine Ambrose

Speaking at the BAM Conference in Nashville

By

 


BAM

BAM is happy to welcome Elaine Ambrose to our slate of speakers.

Elaine Ambrose is an author, syndicated blogger, and humorist from Eagle, Idaho. Her writing is featured on several sites including The Huffington Post, BlogHer, and Midlife Boulevard. Her latest book, Midlife Cabernet, won two national humor awards and Publishers Weekly wrote that the book is “laugh-out-loud funny.” Elaine wrote Menopause Sucks under contract with Adams Media and six other books under her own company, Mill Park Publishing. Elaine’s most dubious claim to fame is that her Huffington Post essay “Don’t Fart During an MRI” received more than 678,000 hits from around the world. Preview her books and blogs atwww.test.elaineambrose.com.

WHAT: The first blogging conference focused specifically on women bloggers in midlife.

WHEN: Beginning the afternoon of Friday, March 6, 2015 and continuing until the night of Saturday, March 7, 2015. Consider extending your stay through Sunday. We may have an additional Sunday opportunity for attendees!

WHERE: Gaylord Opryland Resort and Convention Center, 2800 Opryland Drive, Nashville,Tennessee. A special room rate has been arranged. Accommodations can be booked through a link received after ticket purchase. 

Register at http://bloggersatmidlife.com.

BAM is happy to welcome Elaine Ambrose to our slate of speakers.</p><br /> <p>Elaine Ambrose is an author, syndicated blogger, and humorist from Eagle, Idaho. Her writing is featured on several sites including The Huffington Post, BlogHer, and Midlife Boulevard. Her latest book, Midlife Cabernet, won two national humor awards and Publishers Weekly wrote that the book is “laugh-out-loud funny.” Elaine wrote Menopause Sucks under contract with Adams Media and six other books under her own company, Mill Park Publishing. Elaine’s most dubious claim to fame is that her Huffington Post essay “Don’t Fart During an MRI” received more than 678,000 hits from around the world. Preview her books and blogs at www.test.elaineambrose.com.

 

Loving Life at Age 20, 40, and 60

By

cabin wine

My five boisterous, funny granddaughters recently came over to make candy trains, a Christmas tradition that I first shared with my children 32 years ago. After their mothers wrangled them together to go home, my 7-year-old granddaughter turned to me and said, “I love making candy trains. After you die, we’re going to keep on making them with our families.”

Talk about a buzz-kill for the holidays! The pure honesty of children can be brutal. I hadn’t thought about dying, but she did bring up an important part of life – it continues with or without us. After the kids and commotion were gone, I poured a glass of wine and sat to contemplate the stages of life.  For me so far, there are three favorite ages.

elaine age 18 u of I

The Tender Twenties

A popular website titled Addicted to Success [addicted2success.com] recently published an article about life lessons that people should know at age 20. The tips included advice on how to relax, suggestions for staying healthy, and a reminder that happiness comes from within. I don’t think these rules are just limited to age 20, but people need to start somewhere.

At 20, I was a junior in college majoring in journalism. My friends were getting married and moving into inexpensive apartments with donated futons, beanbag chairs, and bookshelves made from boards on cinder blocks. That didn’t appeal to me because I didn’t have a steady boyfriend and the world was wide open and waiting for my naive confidence and stubborn independence. After I graduated from college, I loaded all my possessions into my Pontiac Firebird and drove down the road, without a job or a care.

During my twenties, I worked for various companies, I met my future husband, and we had two children. I hurried into my thirties totally exhausted. I worked full-time, had two active kids, a busy marriage, and a home that sprouted clutter. Looking back, I wish I had worked part-time. Even though women at the time were told we could “have it all,” something had to give. My marriage didn’t survive.

elaine age 48 1999

The Fabulous Forties

A recent article in Psychology Today notes that middle-aged people often feel discontent and restless while needing to reassess life and its meaning. They are confronting important issues, including the inevitable physical changes in their bodies, a sense of mortality, and the upcoming empty nest as their children grow up and leave home. Marriages are tested as both partners experience various feelings and turmoil during this time of transition.

For me, age 40 was a time of renewed focus. My children were 10 and 13, so I didn’t have any more childcare issues. I quit my corporate job and became the associate editor of a regional magazine. I divorced and managed to pay the mortgage, fix leaking toilets, and attend the kid’s activities. One pivotal time came when water began pouring from the ceiling into the living room because the rain gutters were clogged. I stood outside on a ladder in the rain scooping out leaves until the gutters were free. I was cold and close to crying, but I finished the job. The experience was liberating.

elaine portrait look back

The Sassy Sixties

According to a recent TODAY survey of 1,500 adults, the 60s can be a positive time of life. Of the participants in the study in their 60s, 72 percent said they felt younger than their age. A majority of the respondents said their journey so far was better than they expected. The key factors to happiness after 60 include personal health and adequate finances. Throw in loving relationships with friends and/or partners and life can be rewarding and fulfilling. Careers are ending so there is more time to volunteer, travel, work on hobbies, and read books from start to finish.

Sometimes I marvel at how I got so old so fast, but really, it’s a wonderful time. My children are grown, married, working, and have delightful children of their own. I married a wonderful man, and we’re having the best time of our lives. We’re free to sleep naked with the bedroom door open, proving that simple pleasures can make life more interesting.

Studies indicate that people who live to age 60 have a likely chance of living until age 82. That gives me two more decades to focus on health, manage my finances, continue to laugh with my grandkids, and chase my husband around the house. I hope to tumble and fumble into my eighties with a sassy attitude of gratitude for an abundant life. And by then, my granddaughters can bring along their kids, and we’ll make some candy trains before I die.

 

A Scholarly Defense of Class Clowns

By

elaine santa 68

Psychologists, well-meaning intellectuals, and exasperated teachers will claim that the class clown is a disruptive, annoying problem-child who is disguising deep emotional pain by acting like an amateur comedian just to get attention. I say that’s academic nonsense because some funny people just like to cause laughter and that’s SO much better than instigating food fights in the cafeteria. I often played the coveted role of Santa Claus at my school’s parent-student Christmas parties, mainly because I was funny but also because my parents didn’t want to be seen with me in public.

Reflecting upon my irreverent behavior in school, I now want to apologize to all my teachers because I was the student from hell. Just ten minutes into a boring lecture, I would fake farts or sing songs from Fiddler on the Roof just so I could get thrown out of class amid guffaws from my snickering comrades in the back of the room. I have such fond memories of vocalizing “Matchmaker, Matchmaker” on my way to the principal’s office. Upon returning to class, I would often hum the more serious version of “Sunrise, Sunset.” Nothing signified contrite redemption like a poignant tribute to oppressed peasants solemnly singing about being laden with happiness and tears.

But I take solace in the words of notable experts who have studied the complex and compelling cornucopia of class clowns. For example, Dr. Maximus Foghorne, renowned specialist in adolescent behavior, noted that young people who desire to provoke laughter from a random audience often exhibit brilliant personal and professional success later in life.

“My studies indicate that society is far too critical of emerging performance and comedic personalities in early developmental stages associated with chronic boredom and the blameless inability to conform to preordained standards of serious decorum,” said Dr. Foghorne. “Obviously, the spirited and independent child should be celebrated and not condemned for outbursts relating to exuberant and animated behavior which often combines excessive energy with wicked wit to be channeled into outstanding achievements throughout adulthood.”

His astute assessments are endorsed by the esteemed Revival Center for Boisterous Behavior and Clinical Comedic Studies at the University of Clownhaven in Thesaurus, Italy.

“Playwrights, theologians, and itinerant thespians concur that the delicate line between absurdity and horror is reflected in our inherent ability to discern humor from tragedy,” said Credence Clearwater, PhD. and Director of the Revival Center. “What manifests as irritating immaturity is actually extraordinary genius frolicking in a grand masquerade into the ballroom of life. We should savor time spent with jesters and learn from their impertinent actions.”

Other professionals concur that the class clown should be tolerated and even praised for introducing sporadic bursts of joyful chaos into a regimented routine that without levity inevitably leads to disillusionment and disaster. So for now, let’s pay homage and offer sincere respect to silly people who can instigate laughter while writing complete fabrications as they present assorted falsehoods as total fact with unsubstantiated opinions. Just because the noted specialists in this article don’t really exist doesn’t mean they don’t really exist. Fun and fantasy trump reality every time. If you can’t be the class clown, sit near one and enjoy the show.

 

I’ve Become a Stinkin’ Cartoon

By

lola color

My friends and family have known for years that I am a character and a cartoon, but now I can cut loose some real proof. My “Don’t Fart in an MRI” inspired Lola, the sassy curmudgeon of the daily comic pages, to assume the position and copy me. I don’t want to raise a stink, sound offensive, or toot my own horn, but I’m putting on airs to permeate such a ripe compliment. This cartoon passes the smell test for lighting up my day. I’m truly relieved.

My essay on The Huffington Post has generated almost 680,000 likes since it was published in late October. (http://www.huffingtonpost.com/elaine-ambrose/dont-fart-during-an-mri_b_6044578.html) The piece was subsequently published in Germany, Italy, Korea, and Brazil and included in several newsletters and magazines. After 40 years of professional writing, I finally got noticed because we all secretly have the maturity of 10-year-old boys.

Over the weekend, I met Todd Clark, the creator and artist for LOLA, a nationally syndicated comic strip featuring a sassy senior citizen. Clark introduced the character in 1999, and she’s still causing chuckles for readers of all ages. I told Clark about my embarrassing medical experience, and he quickly sketched some artwork showing Lola tooting in an MRI. It’s not exactly Wonder Woman, but the caricature fits my personality…and life experiences.

todd clark lola

Clark was creating cartoons at the annual Guardian Ball in Boise, Idaho. The event benefits severely wounded, injured, and ill veterans in the Wyakin Warrior Foundation. The Foundation provides one of the most comprehensive education, mentoring, professional development, networking and job placement programs in the country for severely wounded and injured veterans. My stepson, a Marine who was wounded in Iraq, is a member of the Wyakin Warriors.

Since World War II, cartoonists from the National Cartoonist Society have traveled all over the world to visit wounded troops being treated at military and VA hospitals. Todd Clark packs his pencils and sketch pads and joins other award-winning cartoonists who support our military veterans. I am grateful for his contributions to veterans, and I’m delighted and humbled that now Lola and I are comedic cousins.

 

The Christmas Fort

By

adam fort age 9

Two decades ago, before the popularity and distraction of video games, cell phones, and personal computers, children played outside. They rode bikes, threw balls to each other in the park, scouted for frogs in the ditch, and climbed trees. And they built forts.

Our family moved into a new subdivision when my son was in third grade. The house backed up to a row of empty lots, a little boy’s adventure land. The neighbors next door had two little boys, and my son joined them in playing in the dirt. The developer was building new homes nearby, so the boys hauled unneeded scrap lumber over to the lot behind our house and built a fort. The fathers helped with the heavy lifting, but the boys did most of the work.

In December, they lined the fort with lights and strung an extension cord to the house. The local newspaper mentioned the fort in its list of Christmas light displays to see. They spent countless hours in the fort, telling stories, making little boy plans, and just being in their own private world. Of course, no adults were allowed, unless we were bringing snacks.

The structure weathered the winter, and the boys continued to play inside the fort. One day my son came home from school and went outside to play. He soon came running inside and yelled at me to come with him. The fort had been torn down, left in a pile of broken boards. Nearby the developer’s machinery rumbled over the ground, flattening everything in its path. The boys were heartbroken, but we had a discussion about personal property. We didn’t own the land, so the developer had the right to prepare the ground and build a house. It didn’t occur to him to move the structure to our yard.

My son grew up, married, and had children of his own. Last year he built them a fort in the tree in his back yard. His daughters played and laughed in the tree house, and adults could come near if we brought snacks. Maybe this year, in the spirit of the season and to continue the tradition, they’ll add lights on the fort. And if we’re good and on our best behavior, maybe they’ll allow the adults to come inside.

My Nutcracker Died

By

weary nutcracker

The old soldier fell out of the ornament box and surrendered on the floor. His left arm finally rebelled against years of reapplied glue, and his right arm no longer felt secured under the yellowed scotch tape. A boot was missing, his mouth no longer opened, and his cracker wouldn’t crack. I could relate in so many ways.

I imagined hearing the sad military song “TAPS” playing somewhere, and the sound probably came from the box of unwrapped musical toys I kept for the tree. The old nutcracker’s sentry duties were done after standing at attention on the mantel every December for more than 20 years. Packed and unpacked, moved, stored, dusted, taped, glued, and then perched into position, he watched as the small children grew up, moved away, and then brought children of their own to play in front of the fireplace. He maintained his sturdy composure, a favorite fixture in the background throughout decades of Christmas photographs.

I picked up the sentimental soldier and determined he was beyond repair. I suspected the other decorations had been grumbling about his declining health because obviously he couldn’t see or hear very well, and he probably fell asleep during his watch. The angel in the snow globe shook her head and scattered her irritation like bits of frosty frowns, the wise men in the Nativity scene muttered that he should retire and ride off on a camel, and even durable Mr. Bill cried, “Oh, no!” and wondered why the character continued to perch on the mantel year after year when there were so many younger decorations waiting their turn.

What happens to old nutcrackers? To my knowledge he had never cracked a nut and I wondered if his entire life had been a fraud. Or, maybe he accepted his lofty position on the mantel, content to come out for one month every year and guard the family. I didn’t want to throw him away in the garbage or keep him in the bottom of the ornament box with the cluttered, broken debris. After serious contemplation, I devised a list of suggestions for how to properly retire a dead nutcracker.

  1. Resist the urge to throw him into the fireplace in front of the children. This unacceptable behavior could lead to expensive counseling bills.
  2. Don’t tell the grandkids a mushy story like the Velveteen Nutcracker. There is no way he can be rubbed, loved, or cajoled into humanity.
  3. Don’t be tempted to donate him to the local ballet for a future performance of “The Nutcracker.” They probably have bins and boxes full of dead nutcrackers.
  4. Don’t give him to the local gun club for target practice. We’re desperately trying to avoid the current plethora of inflammatory issues so we’ll play it safe with snow globes and candy canes.
  5. Here’s the only answer: Glue and duct-tape all the parts together, tie a bow around his neck, and give him to the grandchildren. Then their parents have to deal with him.

According to German folklore, nutcrackers were given as keepsakes to bring good luck and to protect the family home. The legend says that a nutcracker represents power and strength and serves like a trusty watch dog guarding the family from evil spirits and danger. My nutcracker performed his duties for two decades, and we were safe. To honor my dead soldier, I toasted him with a mug of Christmas cheer. It was only sensible to toast him 20 times.