Elaine Ambrose

Bestselling Author, Ventriloquist, & Humorist

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Elaine Ambrose

Family Matters through Life and Death

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family mom wendell

Birth is a time of celebration when family and friends gather to welcome a new life, full of opportunities and potential. Death, also, can be a time to rejoice and reflect with loved ones, especially if the deceased person exceeded her potential on earth. Such is the case with my mother Leona Ambrose.

The top picture was taken in July as her grandchildren, their spouses, and their children joined my husband and me for a visit at her assisted living facility. The second two photo was taken October 10, just three weeks before her death. Again, family members gathered around even though she could not remember names or faces. We were limited without a better camera, but the cell phone captured images of loving people. I especially treasure the shot of my mother and my sweet granddaughter. They have always shared a special connection.

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Sometimes we don’t understand what goes on within families or why some people reject taking responsibilities for others. After next week’s funeral service, we can all reflect of things we should have done, actions we could have taken to lessen the heartache of those we love. I must apologize to my mother for not trying harder to communicate with her first-born son. In her honor, I will forgive him for not visiting her for 15 years. But, I do that only for her.

Thanks, Mom, for loving your family. We will strive to continue your legacy of keeping an attitude of gratitude, even when life kicks us in the gut. Oh, and we’ll also buy a new camera to record the next fabulous generation.

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Obituary: Leona Ambrose

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mom flowers crop          leona 1946

Leona Ambrose, age 87, died November 1, 2014. Her beautiful and resilient spirit leaped from earthly restraints to soar with a choir of joyful angels into the light and love of her Savior, Jesus Christ.

She passed away peacefully in Boise with local family members able to say farewell. Funeral services and a celebration of her life will be Tuesday, November 11 at 11:00 am at the Living Waters Presbyterian Church in Wendell, Idaho. The service will be conducted by Pastor Phil Moran of Boise. Viewing will be at the Demaray Funeral Chapel in Wendell on Monday, November 10 from 6:00 – 8:00 pm.

Olive Leona Morrison was born on May 20, 1927 in Arbela, Missouri. She was the oldest of four children born to Emmett Gale Morrison and Olive Grace Curry Morrison. During the Great Depression, her father ventured to Idaho looking for work and then saved enough money to send for his wife and two daughters. At age three, Leona traveled on a train with her mother and baby sister to southern Idaho. Another sister and brother were later born in Idaho.

Leona’s childhood focused on hard work as she hand-milked cows before and after school, hitched and drove a team of horses to work long days in the hay fields, and picked onions to supplement the family income. By age 11, her father bragged that she could outwork any male farmhand. The family moved around southern Idaho as her father worked on farms and then settled in Buhl.

Her family moved to Wendell in 1945 and she was a junior at Wendell High School. She met a handsome young man named Neal Ambrose and the timid valedictorian married the gregarious student body president in 1948. They had three children, Tommy, Elaine, and George. A daughter Carol died at birth.

Leona and Neal created several successful businesses in southern Idaho. Neal capitalized on the opportunity to haul frozen TV dinners, a popular new product in the early 1960s, so he leased an 18-wheel truck and drove throughout the Northwest. Later he owned Montana Express, an interstate trucking company with 60 trucks and refrigerated trailers. To supplement the income while Neal was gone driving trucks, Leona babysat neighbor kids during the day and typed reports for Bradshaw’s Honey Plant at night after her children were asleep. She always took time to read to her children, and saved pennies to purchase a set of Childcraft Books. Now, these same books are read to her great-grandchildren.

Neal and Leona established Ambrose Farms and introduced sprinkler pipe irrigation to Gooding County, buying barren acres of sagebrush and converting them into fertile farm land. Soon they owned more than 30,000 acres of land, 1,000 head of cattle, and employed more than 200 people. In the late 1960s, Neal learned that JR Simplot was selling his hogs – the animals that got Simplot started in business. Neal bought the hogs and then had to decide where to put them. His loyal employees constructed sheds east of Wendell to hold thousands of hogs.

Leona kept records of births and sales of every pig. She helped with all the businesses by doing the bookkeeping without a calculator, climbing onto the potato harvesters every night to record the sales and deliveries, and working in the office. She was the consummate assistant to her husband, and he couldn’t have succeeded without her support. They were loyal residents of Wendell and donated land for a city park east of town. It was named McGinnis Park after one of their favorite high school teachers. Neal passed away in 1989.

Leona was active in the community and the Chamber of Commerce named her a Distinguished Citizen. She served on the school board, helped organize the election polling places, held offices in the PTA, served as a Cub Scout Den Mother, taught Sunday School, and served several terms as president of P.E.O. Chapter AZ. In her spare time, she made elaborate hooked rugs, canned hundreds of jars of grape jelly, and volunteered at the local Presbyterian Church. She commissioned and helped design a wall of stained glass windows for Living Waters Presbyterian Church. One of the highlights of her life was traveling for 12 days across Canada on a train with her daughter and granddaughter.

Education was important to her, and though she never had the opportunity to attend college, she endowed the Ambrose Family Scholarship at the University of Idaho to assist students from the Magic Valley area. She was a member of the first Parent’s Club at the University of Idaho and received recognition from the Foundation Board.

Leona owned Farmhouse Restaurant near Wendell when it was voted in a national poll of drivers as “Best Road Food” in the United States. The restaurant was featured on national news reports and the media referred to Leona as “jolly.”

Leona is survived by her three children, Tom (Leanne), Elaine (Ken), and George (Marti), three grandchildren, and six great-grandchildren. She enjoyed a close relationship with her grandchildren Emily Nielsen (John) and Adam Nielsen (Danielle) and their children. She also is survived by her sister Margaret Hawkins (Jesse) and a brother Emmett Morrison (Yvonne). She was preceded in death by her husband, her parents, an infant daughter, and a sister, Mariana Mink. Through the years, she maintained contact with several nieces, nephews, in-laws, extended family members, and dozens of good friends.

Leona Ambrose, her infectious smile and resilient spirit, made the world a better place. Her positive attitude and unwavering faith in God sustained her, and her many Bibles were worn with dog-eared pages and underlined passages.

The family would like to thank the gentle staff of Legacy Hospice Care of Meridian and the loving people at Spring Creek Manor in Boise. They exceeded their job titles and offered genuine love and compassion in Leona’s last days.

After the celebration on November 11, Leona will be interred at Wendell Cemetery. Funeral arrangements are under the direction of Demaray Funeral Services. Flowers are welcome at the service or memorial donations can be made to the Ambrose Family Scholarship Endowment, Office of Development, University of Idaho, Moscow, ID 83843.

 

 

Lessons I Learned from my Mother

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stained glass windows wendell

Several years ago, my mother commissioned and helped design a two-story wall of stained glass windows for the new Presbyterian Church in Wendell, Idaho. A prominent member of the church objected to the design because it included a rainbow and, as everyone knows, that could endorse the gay rights agenda. My mother remarked, “The rainbow was good enough for Noah, so it’s good enough for me.”

The rainbow design was enlarged and the magnificent windows were carefully installed in the sanctuary. On certain hours of the morning, the sun shines through so brilliantly that some people in the congregation need to wear sunglasses. The person who objected to the design has moved away, but I do hope someday she can witness a spectacular rainbow and be humbled and thankful. No agenda is necessary.

Mom didn’t want or need to support or condemn the gay lifestyle or any lifestyle, for that matter. Instead, she chose to follow the teaching of Jesus and endorsed his commandment to “Love one another.” Her worn-out Bibles were covered with underlined verses, mostly about love and grace. A favorite passage came from the book of Hebrews in the Old Testament: “Keep on loving one another as brothers and sisters.” She followed that advice, often to her own peril as people took advantage of her generosity.

Her funeral will be next Tuesday in the church, and I hope the sun shines through the stained glass and illuminates the place of worship that will be her final stop before the graveside service. If the sun doesn’t shine, maybe it will rain and then we’ll see a rainbow. Either way, we’ll know she helped design the day because she’s in good and powerful company.

 

My Mother’s Body Got Lost

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I’m trying to plan my mother’s funeral, but we have a problem. We can’t find her.

My mother passed away Saturday after a long illness. I had all the funeral arrangements planned months in advance, so I was prepared when the inevitable happened. After she died, I contacted the proper authorities to transport her body 100 miles to her hometown of Wendell, Idaho for the funeral and burial. Some things don’t always go as planned. Two days later, we know that the body is gone from her assisted living facility but it’s not in Wendell. This is a cause for concern.

During the past few years, my mother has been lost in dementia. Even after moving her to a secure nursing home in Boise, there were times when I visited and couldn’t find her. The staff and I would search the facility and find her in someone else’s room and the two residents would be talking about their old times that never happened. No harm was done, and we gently, lovingly participated in their storytelling. But, I always knew she was somewhere inside the building.

Today I called the funeral home in Wendell and they hadn’t received the body. How do you lose a casket? I thought I had completed all the necessary arrangements, but I wasn’t familiar with the procedures for this dilemma. I used my inside voice and calmly requested that somebody do something. I called back an hour later and needed to employ my outside, aggressive tone. This last resort has been known to get immediate results and leave people trembling. I’m not proud of this trait, but it works.

At last, I received a call from Wendell that they had found her body still in Boise and the transportation was being arranged. A few hours later, I received a call that said she was near Bliss, a tiny village along the route.

“Of course she is,” I responded.

I hope she had a nice weekend and enjoyed having the last word. But, Mom, now it’s time to go home. Please.

Planning a funeral is similar to planning a wedding. Family and friends come together, some cry, music plays, and people wave goodbye. Except, at a funeral, the goodbye lasts a long time. This last momentary interruption is my mother’s way of telling me I’m not always in charge of everything. Somewhere, my parents are laughing.

 

 

 

Buried in the Nice Robe

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leona 1946

My mother died yesterday. She was 87 and her health had been failing for several years, she was confined to a wheelchair and lost in dementia. Her passing brought a wide range of feelings, from relief to sorrow. As her designated power of attorney, I had the duty to make the final arrangements.

“What do you want her to wear?” the gentle woman from Hospice asked as she took notes.

“The nice robe,” I answered. “With the pearl necklace.”

The woman stopped writing and peered at me, unsure of what I had suggested.

“You want her buried in a robe?”

So I told her why. In 1969, my father traveled to Japan on a business trip and brought back an elegant silk robe as a gift for my mother. They had been high school sweethearts; he was the gregarious student body president and she was the timid valedictorian. He wasn’t one for giving gifts, and she wasn’t comfortable accepting them.

Over the past 45 years, I have asked her why she never wore the robe, and her answer always was the same: “It’s too nice.”

That’s how she lived, protecting special objects in her life that she never felt worthy enough to enjoy. She never burned the fancy candles so they melted in storage. The good china dishes and silverware only came out at Thanksgiving and Christmas. And, she saved and reread every birthday and holiday card she ever received. (I have inherited this trait, and it’s a tough one to break.)

To arrange for her service, my to-do list is filled with complicated assignments. How do I get the headstone engraved? It’s been waiting at my father’s grave since 1989. How do I condense her amazing life into a 300-word obituary? Should I request that in lieu of flowers, people can contribute to the scholarship she established at the University of Idaho? The donation would be nice, but she also would love the flowers. She’d say she didn’t deserve them and they were too nice, but she would love flowers. The only easy decision I had to make was what she would wear for her final outfit. Two weeks ago, I had the robe professionally cleaned and ready.

She’ll be wearing the nice robe for the first time at her funeral service next week. And she’ll have on pearls. She always wore pearls, even with her favorite cozy sweatshirts ordered from the Country Living catalog. She’ll be beautiful.

 

Lifting Wine Glasses Counts as Exercise

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A new study recently published in the Journal of Physiology reports that drinking a glass of red wine can equate to an hour of exercise, so I can only assume that two glasses equal two hours at the gym. After consuming an entire bottle, I should be ready to power-lift a Buick, jump over tall buildings, and grow a beard.

Researchers discovered that a natural compound called resveratrol found in red wine could enhance exercise training and performance. The principal investigator for the study notes that resveratrol can also offer the same benefits achieved through working out. To commemorate this important advancement in medical science, I raise the appropriate wide-bowled glass, swirl, sniff, taste, and toast the good news. The celebration pairs nicely with some Brie and crackers.

I’ve already sent a nice thank you note to the research team responsible for helping me choose between sweating at the gym next to fat-free females or lounging on my patio with a bold Cabernet. I’m still trying to lose the baby fat that hung around after my last child was born. I hope there’s no time limit on that excuse because my son now is grown and has kids of his own.

I’ve honestly tried to exercise and have several colorful outfits, coordinated shoes, and a dusty collection of DVDs, resistance bands, and hand weights. Alas, my ambitious attempts to get fabulously fit always fail from being too feisty. Once I tripped over a wayward barbell and broke my foot, and another time I leaped into a speed skater contortion, momentarily defying gravity with the grace of a bounding gazelle but then landed with the impact of a drunk hippopotamus. As a result, I tore the meniscus in my knee and cracked a bone. I concluded that the benefits of sipping wine far outweighed the potential hazards associated with the jungle of the gym. From now on, my only six-pack will come with bottles.

Common sense and medical research tell me to curb the enthusiasm, continue doing regular moderate exercises, and celebrate pain-free with a glass or two of red wine. Please join me as we put down the jump rope and skip to the wine cabinet. Do it for your health, and then daydream that some dedicated scientist now is studying the benefits of warm pie with ice cream. Cheers!