Elaine Ambrose

Bestselling Author, Ventriloquist, & Humorist

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Elaine Ambrose

Survive the Summer with Songs

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music from noise

I grew up listening to The Captain and Tennille singing about “Muskrat Love” and The Carpenters warbling “Sing of good things, not bad. Sing of happy, not sad.” I believe those two songs were solely responsible for the rise of heavy metal bands and for Black Sabbath’s song “Electric Funeral” about nuclear annihilation. It’s all about balance.

To survive this summer of irritating noise, make music an important part of your life. Turn off the news and listen to tunes that inspire, soothe, and tap dance through your mind with promises that the political elections will end in November. At the stroke of midnight on December 31, you’ll take a cup of kindness yet and sing “Auld Lang Syne” with the eager passion of a professional soloist despite knowing that when the sun rises you won’t be able to carry a tune in an empty punch bowl. But for a brief moment, when the year is new and full of untainted potential, you’ll become a soulful crooner for all the ages, sharing your song with the universe.

Your challenge is to keep the music playing long after the confetti is thrown into the garbage, the bills are past-due, and prosperity is still elusive. The late comedian George Carlin said, “It’s called The American Dream because you have to be asleep to believe it.” His acerbic humor nailed it. How can you sing a joyful song when life keeps dumping junk on your head? Maybe you’re unemployed or in a lousy job, or you haven’t had any loving since 2008, or your dog ran away. Look on the bright side – you could write Country Western songs!

happy sad music

Music and mood are closely interrelated — listening to a sad or happy song alters your moods and has the ability to change your perception of the world around you. For example, gothic metal music makes me want to destroy something with a chain saw, while a classical aria causes me to (almost) levitate with elation. In a stressful situation, a little dose of “Walking on Sunshine” could be all it takes to relieve the tension.

Here are some exercises to prove that music alters your mood. Imagine seeing and hearing the following scenarios:

You’re struggling in the steaming jungles of Vietnam as you hear the foreboding song “The End” by The Doors as played in the movie Apocalypse Now. Then you’re drinking alone in a dark bar as a Billie Holiday impersonator croons “Gloomy Sunday.” You claw out of a deep depression only to hear Kansas singing “Dust in the Wind.” By now you should be wallowing on the floor, sobbing in anguish about the wretched world.

Now, pretend you’re twirling on a panoramic Austrian mountain meadow singing “The Sound of Music” with Julie Andrews. You’re even wearing a summer dress with a festive apron. Then transport yourself to a sunny beach listening to the jaunty tune of Bobby McFerrin’s “Don’t Worry, Be Happy.” Finally, turn up the volume on Chariots of Fire or Rocky. Yo, Adrian! Are you smiling yet?

musical notes

No matter what festivity, calamity, or horror show blaring on the national news, you should have a song or two ready to suit the occasion. It’s healthy for the lungs and cleans out the debris in your mind if you warble a  popular song in your shower or drive along attempting to harmonize with your favorite collection of jaunty music featuring barbershop quartets. Add it to your bucket list this summer to make your own music to help you survive until the end of the year.

Don’t worry if you’re unsure about writing a song. Remember the immortal lyrics of that famous song by The Captain and Tennille that rose to #4 on the Billboard Charts – “Now he’s tickling her fancy, rubbing her toes. Muzzle to muzzle, now, anything goes as they wriggle, Sue starts to giggle.” That song includes synthesized sound effects simulating muskrat copulation. Yes, you can do better!

RUPTURE – A Short Story in Five Scenes

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1.

Julia was ten years old when her mother smacked her over the head with a tube of Pillsbury refrigerator biscuits. The can ruptured and eight Southern Homestyle clumps of molded dough wiggled from her brown hair onto the floor.

“Aha!” exclaimed her mother as she picked up the dough and arranged the raw biscuits on a cookie sheet. “That’s how you open these pesky cans.”

Helen had followed directions on the package, removed the label, and pressed the appropriate line with a spoon. Nothing happened. She twisted, pulled, added colorful language, and slammed the cardboard roll onto the counter. The stubborn tube refused to break.

With incredible bad timing, Julia happened to run into the kitchen and demand something to eat. That’s when her resourceful mother decided Julia’s head presented the perfect solution to the family’s dinnertime dilemma.

“Ouch!” yelled Julia, rubbing her head. “Why did you do that?”

“So you’ll have something to eat,” her mother responded as she slid the pan into the oven. “Dinner will be ready soon.”

Helen glanced in the mirror to straighten her skirt and smooth her frizzy blonde hair.

Julia made a mental note never again to demand food, especially from her mother. She knew none of her friends had mothers who would smack them in the head with a can of dough. They were lucky.

2. 

Dinner commenced when her dad Hank, a big man with gnarled hands, and her two older brothers James and Teddy, skinny boys with shaggy brown hair and freckles, tumbled into the kitchen after working all day on the farm. After a quick wash in the kitchen sink, they sat down as Julia’s mother scurried to bring a platter of fried chicken, mashed potatoes, a bowl of green bean casserole, and a basket of biscuits with butter.

“These biscuits aren’t homemade,” mumbled Hank, washing down the warm bread with a large glass of milk.

“Didn’t have time to bake from scratch today,” Helen said, trying not to sound defensive. “The hose in the garden ruptured and almost ruined my carrots. I had to repair the hose and replant some vegetables.”

Hank grunted, so James and Teddy grunted, too. Julia watched in silence as the family finished the meal, all of them sopping the potatoes with the biscuits. Her head still hurt.

After dinner, Helen and Julia remained in the kitchen to wash the dishes while her father and brothers retired to sit outside on the porch. Julia could see a dim red glow as her father took a drag on his cigarette, followed by the usual coughing and spitting.

“Why does he still smoke?” Julia asked, stacking a dish in the drainer.

“He’ll cut back once the harvest is finished,” Helen replied. “You know it’s a stressful time.”

“I’m having a stressful time, and I don’t smoke,” Julia said. “I’d rather kick something or holler outside. Maybe I could smack someone with a can of biscuits.”

Julia glanced to her side and noticed her mother biting her lip.

“Someday you’ll be blessed with a family, and you’ll understand,” Helen said with a tone of voice more weary than usual. “I’m sorry about your head. But it came in handy.”

They both laughed and finished the dishes.

3.

The next morning, Hank pounded on Julia’s bedroom door. “Get up,” he called. “We need your help today to finish the potato harvest.”

Julia pulled on her work clothes and boots and joined the family in the kitchen. Breakfast was simple: hotcakes and bacon. In the hurry to go to work, James knocked the plastic syrup bottle onto the floor, and Teddy accidentally stopped on it. The bottle ruptured and a gooey mess spread across the room.

“Out!” ordered Helen as she reached for towels to clean the syrup. Julia followed her father and brothers outside to the pickup truck. She glanced back at her mother on her knees wiping the floor. Julia decided she might not want to be blessed with a family.

4.

They worked all day bringing in the last load of potatoes from the back 40 acres. Julia stood on the harvester pulling out weeds while James drove the truck. Her dad and Teddy rode beside the truck to collect the potatoes as they tumbled over the conveyor belt. Twilight cast long shadows over the cellar as Hank shoveled the final pile of dirty potatoes.

Suddenly Hank stopped, clutched his chest, and dropped to the ground. His three children screamed at him to get up, but he wouldn’t move. James ran to the house for his mother. She quickly called for an ambulance and ran to the field with water and a blanket.

Teddy sat on the ground, clutching his knees and rocking. Julia held her father’s large, weathered hand and watched as his chest heaved in spasms until it stopped moving. A deep sigh came from his mouth, and he was gone. She let go of his hand when the paramedics wheeled him away to the ambulance.

“He suffered a ruptured abdominal aneurysm,” the doctor explained later at the hospital. “At least he went quickly. A rupture of this type is common among smokers.”

Helen and her children drove home in silence. Friends and other family members arrived and filled the house with tearful stories, mugs of coffee, and plates of pie. Julia escaped to her room and opened her journal.

“My dad died,” she wrote. “I don’t know how to feel. I hope I remember the sound of his voice.”

5.

A few years later, James left for trade school and Teddy joined the Army. Helen sold the farm and moved into town to work at the library. After graduating from high school, Julia worked for a local veterinarian and saved money to buy a used car. It was a blue Toyota with one red door.

Her mother was sitting on the porch when Julia drove up in the car.

“You’re leaving, aren’t you?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“You’re breaking my heart,” Helen said. “I feel like life has ruptured me into shattered pieces that can’t be mended.”

Julia sat beside her mother. She could stay, but there was no future in the small farming community. In the distance, a mourning dove cooed a simple solo.

“I’ll always carry your strength and goodness,” Julia said. “But I want and need a chance to see what is beyond this place, and I want to go where the road takes me.”

Julia noticed her mother’s hair had become gray and brittle, her hands rippled with veins, and her eyes were tired. Julia’s heart softened.

“Give me your blessing, Mama.”

Helen patted her daughter’s hand. “Go tomorrow,” she said. “You have my blessing, but don’t forget me.”

The next morning, Julia backed the Toyota out of the driveway. Helen stood at the door and waved until the car was out of view. She whispered, “I want to go with you.” Julia didn’t hear her mother’s plea as she turned up the music on the car radio and accelerated toward the freeway.

 

©Elaine Ambrose

(Rejected submission for The Cabin’s anthology, Rupture: Writers in the Attic.)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Remember July 4th in Crouch, Idaho?

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I owned a cabin in Garden Valley, Idaho near the village of Crouch. Away from the crowds and noise of the Boise area, the valley offered clean air, quiet evenings, roaming wildlife, and inspirational views of the South Fork of the Payette River. The commotion came on July 4th. The festivities were tamed a few years ago, and July 4th will never be the same.

Most cities organize a patriotic parade and fireworks, but for some true explosive entertainment we escape to the mountains to Crouch where the local citizens organize a dangerous and horrifying experience not to be missed.

The normal population is fewer than 500 full-time residents, and the entire county has only four people per square mile. But summer brings the vacationers and those with second homes. That’s also when the crazies come down from the hills. And they have ammunition.

On July 4th the one street in Crouch is lined with more than 1,000 people who come with the hopes of still being alive and unbloodied after midnight. The only gas pump is turned off and guarded by police because one errant rocket could hit the gas line and ignite the entire town. At dusk, a year’s salary of expensive fireworks begins in the middle of the street. Firecrackers, spinners, noise makers, sparklers, exploding stars, roman candles, and comets are a few of the pyrotechnics ignited for several hours. And, that’s just from the toddlers.

All ages of people meander the streets, walking through burned out debris and lighting new whistle rockets and flares. Several people hoist huge wheels of 500 firecrackers and then pile them in the street and offer children the opportunity to light the fuses. Beer and liquor flow freely, bands perform raucous music, and grizzled old miners hop over spinning fireworks.

Miraculously, no one gets hurt. Studley and I join in the fun and by the end of the day, we have officially celebrated and make our way over the carnage to our cabin. The police continue to guard the gas pumps and smile. They say they would rather have fireworks in town instead of out in the woods because the possibility of burning down the restaurant and grocery store is a preferable alternative to starting a forest fire.

The fifth of July in Crouch is quiet, except for the occasional gunshot and leftover duds that suddenly explode and cause some horses to stampede through town. We invite guests to join us for the annual event, but they must bring an insurance waiver.

— This is an excerpt from my humor book, Midlife Cabernet. 

Midlife Cabernet: Life, Love & Laughter after Fifty (Midlife Humor) by Elaine Ambrose – Winner of several awards including the Silver Medal for Humor from the Independent Publishers Book Award (IPPY).

My Broken Heart

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Echocardiogram Machine

I had a heart attack during the night after giving a presentation at a writer’s retreat in Mexico. I didn’t want to go to a hospital in a foreign country, so I contacted the airlines and requested a wheelchair for the journey to Idaho. On the positive side, a wheelchair makes it a breeze to get through U.S. Customs and to be first onto the airplane.  Struggling for breath, I maneuvered my carry-on suitcase to the nearest chair and fell into it, panting for air. One thought repeated through my mind: Get home.

My favorite wheelchair pusher was in the Los Angeles airport. My guardian angel appeared disguised as a gregarious, Black woman named Diamond. She assisted me into the chair and eased my distress with funny stories as she negotiated the crowds. I finally could breathe without gasping and asked her if she had been a race car driver.

“Oh honey, no,” she said with a laugh. “I’ve been doing this for 30 years. You wouldn’t believe the people I have guided through these corridors. Lots of famous people. Are you famous?”

I smiled. “More like infamous,” I replied. I explained how I was returning from Todos Santos, Mexico after presenting a workshop at a writer’s retreat.

“I want to write a book!” she exclaimed as she careened around a corner to the gate. “I have tons of stories!”

I encouraged her to find free online writing courses, write every night, and compile her memories into short stories. As she pushed my chair down the ramp to the plane, she promised to send me a copy of her future book. I thanked Diamond and hoped I’d be alive to read it.

Taking My Breath Away
My breathing problems began months earlier. I ignored the loss of breath and low energy, believing the problems would go away. They didn’t. Finally, on May 25 I had an EKG, and my doctor identified a “left bundle branch block,” meaning there was a blockage on the left side of my heart. The condition indicated heart disease. That diagnosis wasn’t on my agenda.

She referred me to a cardiologist and warned it could take months to get an appointment. I got on the phone with the determination of a woman who didn’t want to die during the summer. The stars were aligned, the doctor at St. Luke’s Idaho Cardiology Associates had a cancellation, and I secured an appointment to see him on June 3. The cardiologist reviewed the EKG and ordered comprehensive blood work, a complete transthoracic echocardiogram, and a Nuclear Lexiscan stress test. The Nuclear Lexiscan test injects radioactive dye into the blood, and a camera detects damage to the heart and blocked arteries. The four-hour procedures were scheduled for June 29, only five weeks after the initial EKG. The cardiologist gave me permission to attend the writer’s retreat in Mexico but with a stern warning to avoid stress. I laughed.

On June 29, I was ushered into a room with Teresa, the medical technician who would perform the echocardiogram. I watched the monitor as she applied a gel to my chest and moved a tool called a transducer. I immediately admired and appreciated my heart. There it was, pumping as best it could. The average heart beats more than 100,000 times in one day, about 35 million times in a year. My heart was the most consistent part of my entire life. I regretted not taking better care of my heart health.

After an hour, Teresa called for an IV to be inserted in my arm so she could take more tests. Then she called for the cardiologist. I suspected something was wrong.

“Keep beating,” I silently begged my heart. “I need ten more years.”

The cardiologist appeared after reviewing the echocardiogram. “We’re cancelled the three-hour Nuclear Lexiscan test,” he said. “Your heart is too weak.”

I had failed the heart test.

Barbara Hershey and Bette Midler in Beaches

I’d Rather Play Bette Midler’s Role in Beaches
He explained that my heart only was working at 70 percent because of a damaged left ventricle. I had cardiomyopathy; a disease similar to what killed Barbara Hershey’s character in the movie Beaches. I’d rather have played Bette Midler’s role.

He prescribed several medications and scheduled a return visit for July 22. Depending on the prognosis, I could be cleared for the Nuclear Lexiscan test. After that, a pacemaker could be installed to regulate the flow of blood. The next scenario would be open heart surgery. I was way too young for all those medical procedures, but I knew heart disease was the #1 killer of women. I wanted to live.

What causes heart damage?
Smoking – I have never smoked, not even during the 70s in college when everyone was smoking pot. I wanted to retain all my brain cells.

Alcohol – I lamented my proclivity to prefer wine over workouts. Four days ago, I changed to sparkling water in a wine glass.

Diet – More veggies for me.

Exercise – I had exercised by carrying emotional baggage. That will end, and now I have a set schedule to exercise every day.

Age and Heredity – Thanks, Dad and Mom! However, I’ve enjoyed 69 splendid years.

Stress – What, me worry? It’s been a stressful year. We moved in January, I tore ligaments in my leg in February, performed a writing webinar on Zoom in March, had a brain MRI for acute headaches in April, and appeared twice in District Court in May to appeal a cruel and undeserved Protection Order against me. The judge terminated the order, but the ordeal emotionally broke my heart. The writing workshop in Mexico was in June. All those issues contributed to copious quantities of stress.


This week, I’ve had fun clearing my calendar, postponing appointments, and canceling workshops, but I intend to appear in a live comedy show for a women’s conference in October. Until then, my day will focus on staying alive and starting a (short) walking routine. My goal is to walk away from painful, stressful situations and walk toward better health. I have a broken heart. I might not be able to mend it, but I can tend it.

“Melody” Wins Distinguished Award for Children’s Fiction

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The 2021 Independent Press Awards announced today Melody’s Magical Flying Machine by Idaho author Elaine Ambrose is the Distinguished Favorite winner in the Children’s Fiction category. Judges evaluated entries from around the world, and the Children’s Fiction category received thousands of submissions. The Awards celebrate and recognize key titles representing excellence in global independent publishing and writing.

Melody’s Magical Flying Machine is a beginning chapter book for ages 7-11. Melody is an amusing 10-year-old girl with Down syndrome. She narrates her story of meeting an enchanted bird, and they use a 3D printer to create a flying machine pulled by two dragons. She soars over the playground to amaze her friends and confront a group of bullies. Melody’s energetic talent in storytelling empowers her to educate others about Down syndrome while sharing her tall tales and strong hugs.

“The book is a joyful, well-told story that celebrates the power of imagination. Melody is an engaging narrator whose cheerful affection, knack for happiness, and zestful imagination express themselves in every line. Carolyn Zina’s pencil illustrations are beautifully textured and shaded, with a magical quality that deftly matches the text.” – Kirkus Reviews

Publishers Weekly named the book as an “Editor’s Pick” for outstanding quality and wrote about “vivid prose” and “imaginative tapestry that is Melody’s magical adventure.” The published review concluded: “This charming flight of fancy with an equally charming protagonist will delight readers who want to be both educated and entertained.”

Slant3D of Nampa, Idaho, manufactured 3D toys for the book.

The story features a 3D printer, and toys were created with a 3D printer to accompany the book. Ambrose has donated books and toys to several charities, including Special Olympics Idaho and the Ohana Day Center in Woods Cross, Utah.

Illustrations were created by Idaho artist Caroline Zina. The book is available in paperback, published by Brown Books Publishing, and in eBook and audiobook read by the author. Order from independent bookstores, online, or from the author.

Elaine Ambrose is a bestselling author of 12 books, 14 eBooks, and 4 audiobooks. During the past six years, her books have won 10 international writing awards in three genres: humor, memoir, and children’s books. More details are available on www.ElaineAmbrose.com.

Melody the Daydreamer
Melody and JuJu use a 3D printer to make a flying machine.
“Don’t forget me, Sweetie Pie.”