Elaine Ambrose

Bestselling Author, Ventriloquist, & Humorist

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Elaine Ambrose

Celebrate the Empty Nest and Empty Plate

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After decades of raising children and preparing them for the realities of the world, most middle-aged women are jubilant when their young adults are without a criminal record, gainfully employed, and off of the family nickel or teat. For us, the empty nest is a positive experience because our children are doing fine on their own.

“My son got a job and has a new apartment!” Cheers and toasts.

“My daughter is starting her own business and already has a few clients.” More cheers and clinking of glasses.

“I’ve turned the empty bedroom into a wine bar and writing studio!” Total adulation and drinks for the entire bar!

Of course, we’d like to assume that the successes of our children are due to our superior parenting skills, but we’re also wise enough to know that a tremendous amount of luck, blessings, and other nurturing adults were involved to help Junior and Sis become productive adults. And we’ve shared countless tears with good mothers struggling with their children’s drug addictions, chronic unemployment, physical and mental limitations, or abusive partners. We’re also keenly aware that the dismal job market makes it difficult for our eager offspring to find good employment. That’s why it’s so exhilarating to celebrate when our young adult sons and daughters become self-sufficient.

The rites of passage continue to evolve, and I try to anticipate the next opportunity that will tug at my heart, or bewilder my brain, or make me run away to live in a mountain cave. Midlife brings those complex days when I rock a grandchild to sleep, exercise with my grown daughter, share a beer with my son-in-law, listen as my son describes his tough job, take a sad friend to lunch, feel my daughter-in-law’s pregnant belly (but not in a creepy way), send a steamy text to my sweetheart, write a sassy short story, and then go help my ailing mother at the assisted living facility. Really, I can’t imagine life any other way.

It took an empty dinner plate to make me comprehend the emotional consequences of my empty nest. I held the bright red “You Are Special Today” plate, and tears rolled down my cheeks as I realized that my children had actually followed my advice to test their wings and that there was no one at home to need the plate. For over twenty years, the red plate was used to celebrate my children’s birthdays. Each birthday breakfast, they were served custom pancakes on the special plate. I made their initials in the pan and transferred the cakes to the plate, even when they were in high school. (Making an A was definitely easier than making an E.) On the evening of their birthday, dinner was a celebration as they enjoyed their favorite meal on the unique platter.

During my daughter’s volatile vegetarian years, the plate was heaped with cheese lasagna and buttered corn, unless she gave herself special dispensation to have pepperoni pizza or a burger. When my son played high school football, the plate disappeared under a sizzling porterhouse steak. As they cleaned up every bite, they were rewarded with the familiar words telling them that they were, indeed, special that day. Then the plate was stored on the shelf until the next birthday.

Suddenly the plate of platitudes wasn’t needed anymore. My daughter had moved to Maui after college graduation and was working three jobs in order to cover her expenses. My son had joined the army and was serving as a military policeman in South Korea. My kids not only left the nest, they left the mainland! I was lucky to see them once or twice a year. I admonished myself for inspiring them to be so independent. While my friends lamented that their twenty-something children had moved back home or, worse yet, had never left, I sulked with sadness at their great fortune. My children were several time zones away. What did I do wrong?

The first Christmas without them was a total disaster, and I forced myself to decorate the tree and hang their favorite ornaments. During our holiday telephone conversations, I tried to sound cheerful and supportive, but after hanging up, I scurried about in a desperate search for chocolate or wine, or both, to sooth my loneliness. Ultimately, I was a mess.

After doing some research on the empty nest syndrome, I was relieved to find I wasn’t alone in my sadness. Many people experience feelings of depression or grief after their children come of age and move out or go away to college. Women usually have a more difficult time than men, mainly because they have spent more time with their children. The women also could be going through menopause, which has its own set of emotional issues that are exacerbated by an empty nest. The problems are compounded when women experience physical problems associated with getting older or if they’re caring for aging parents. To hell with being called the sandwich generation. We’re the sack lunch of leftover stale chips. Our energy is depleted and we need chocolate now if we’re ever going to survive this woeful reality.

After I grew tired of feeling sorry for myself, I decided to turn my sadness into positive energy. I saved money and took a trip to Maui to spend time with my daughter. I had no desire to visit South Korea, so I sent goofy cards and humorous gifts to my son and waited eagerly for his monthly telephone calls. My son was in South Korea for two holiday seasons, and our family used the experience to concentrate less on the material craziness associated with the season and to focus more on the meaning of family and freedom. It was truly cathartic when I reached for the special red plate and used it myself for New Year’s Day dinner. It was the beginning of a new life for me.

The Empty Nest offers a splendid opportunity for personal renewal. You have more time, the house is quiet, you can sleep naked, and you don’t have to hide your favorite ice cream behind the frozen ham hocks anymore. Do it now so the kids can’t move back and bring their pet spider collection, garage band, and/or online gambling addiction. Also, you could use your extra time to enhance your personal relationships, take a class, try yoga, volunteer, or start a creative project. You may want to focus on your physical, spiritual, and mental health; maybe talk to a professional about that stupid song from the sixties that keeps squawking in your head. Or (my favorite suggestion) become the drum major of your own parade; just don’t forget to tip the guy who cleans up after the horses.

And, of course, any midlife parade is best enjoyed with a bold red wine and a chocolate brownie on the “You are Special Today” plate. Because, you are.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Midlife Cabernet: Go Hang a Banana

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wine hook

The world is smoldering toward catastrophic self-destruction, so it’s only sensible that I take a brief moment of clarity to offer this lovely tidbit of advice before the final tragic calamity ignites the end of civilization. If you want to appreciate form and function, escape chaos and crisis, and experience inner peace, you should hang a banana.

I’ve survived more than half a century on this magnificent planet and only yesterday purchased a banana holder. This is not just any ordinary device; it’s a 3-piece banana hook with fruit basket! And, it came with illustrated instructions! Heaven forbid a confused consumer would tote it home and not know how to assemble the complicated design.

“Help me, Walter. Does the bowl go over or under the hook?”

“Lemme study the picture on the box, Marge. I hope this contraption came with directions.”

The 3-piece banana hook wasn’t on my Costco list, but who could resist? I wanted it. On my way to the back of the store to get my quarterly supply of 50 rolls of toilet paper, I noticed the box on the end of the aisle. The photo displayed ripe, firm bananas perfectly poised over a bowl of tempting green apples supported and enhanced with a gleaming silver hook and coordinated basket. I spontaneously added it to the cart, along with the tub of chocolate-covered almonds (also not on the list.)

I balanced my new treasures with the massive supply of toilet paper, a calf-sized pack of paper towels, and a year’s supply of detergent while I maneuvered my way through the aisles, stopping periodically to sample the bland but free samples of food. I avoided the book section because I have been known to spend hours reading through selections while family-reunion-size boxes of frozen appetizers melt in the aisle.

After paying the zombie checkout guy, I toured the vast parking lot looking for my car. I finally resorted to clicking my key alarm and eventually found it. I scurried home to assemble my new banana holder and proudly placed it on the kitchen counter. I carefully hung my bananas at the angle shown in the photograph. They seemed to be happy and perky in their appropriate position. Today, I’ll visit the local farmer’s market and buy some green apples.

For a brief but delightful moment in time, I won’t watch or read the news, and I won’t worry about all the crap happening throughout the world. Instead, I’ll make a cup of tea in the morning and open a bottle of wine in the afternoon and stare at my banana holder. That’s about all I can control right now. And if other stressed people come to my door, I’ll welcome them inside and we will gaze at the wonderful invention and smile at the balance, order, and symmetry of the simple design. Then, only after we feel at peace, we’ll eat the bananas, apples and chocolate almonds, open another bottle of wine, and sing songs of courage and glory. All will be well, thanks to my new banana hook. With a fruit basket.

 

 

 

 

 

Midlife Cabernet: What’s So Funny?

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http://youtu.be/p_oRsQX5i_A

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The words “Cook in your underwear” aren’t that funny. But in the context of a speech I gave last week to the Idaho Association of School Administrators, the phrase prompted 500 people to spontaneously laugh out loud. For a speaker and an incorrigible clown, it’s a delightful feeling to say a few words that cause people to explode with laughter. That’s SO much better than instigating an audience to throw objects, fall asleep, play on their cell phones, or slink out the back door.

The above link contains a brief snippet of my talk. This excerpt includes my earnest words of wisdom and ends with the admonishment: “Want perfect children? Don’t have any.” That simple expression prompted a delightful eruption of laughs that signaled a message to my brain: “Remember this line. I don’t know why, but it worked.”

We are born with the ability to laugh, and babies exhibit the tendency at about four months of age. Audible joy is part of the human vocabulary, and all members of the human species understand the language of laughter. It occurs unconsciously, and we can’t force ourselves to produce real laughter. The emotion is within us, waiting to be stimulated. Unfortunately, many adults lose their youthful exuberance and morph into snarly old grumps. I see far too many miserable people who have no clue that their laughter option is in danger of extinction. They should tap into their hidden humor side before they lose the ability and their funny bone becomes as useless as their appendix.

The act of laughter consumes the entire body. Our facial features change, our breathing is modified, we make strange sounds, the muscles in our arms, legs, and trunk get involved, and our eyes water. For middle-aged women, we also have a tendency to wet out pants, but I’ll sacrifice the temporary humiliation for a robust belly laugh any day. I’ll just stock up on adult diapers and slapstick comedies.

Did you know there is a World Laughter Day? It’s scheduled for the first Sunday of May. The Global Belly Laugh Day is in January, and the International Moment of Laughter occurs in April. With all this attention to frivolity, it’s our duty to celebrate each charming chuckle, every gregarious guffaw, and even the most snide, snickering snort. We’re earning our laugh lines, and they make us beautiful.

Our all-too-human laughter sets us — and our close cousins, the primates — apart from all other species that roam our planet, says Robert R. Provine, PhD, a behavioral neurobiologist at the University of Maryland in Baltimore.

“Think about it the next time you walk through woods listening to the odd cries and calls of the creatures that live there: When you laugh, those creatures are hearing sounds that are just as odd and just as characteristic of our own species,” he writes in his book, Laughter: A Scientific Investigation.

I think laughter is necessary to help us skip over all the mud bogs of tragedy that ooze across our daily paths. In the movie Funny Girl, the hilarious vision of Barbra Streisand’s pregnant bride offsets the character’s personal pain. My favorite musical is Les Miserables, and the boisterous, comedy scene from “Master of the House” keeps me from dissolving into a sobbing heap after Cosette sings “Castle on a Cloud.” And in a poignant reality, through movies and recordings, we’ll always have the comic genius of Robin Williams.

Thousands of years ago in the Book of Proverbs, an astute medical prescription was written that still applies today: A merry heart does good, like medicine. But a broken spirit dries the bones. We know too many people with broken spirits and dry bones, so we should try to bring some merriment into their lives so the world has fewer crabby people to endure. Those of us who love to laugh loudly until liquids run out of our noses need to pass along this valuable life skill to those who only can muster up a trivial smile.

With so much angst and misery in the world, it’s difficult to find something to enjoy with gusto. But, I’m willing to take a chance and be with anything or anyone who can cause and appreciate joyful laughter. If that includes a challenge to cook in my underwear, I’ll take it. With an apron, of course. And the recipe better include chocolate. And wine.

 

Granny Goes New-Age with Ancient Mantras

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bell thailand

After my children grew up (way too quickly) and moved on to make the world a better place, I started a morning ritual of brewing a pot of coffee and reading the newspaper. Over the years, I’ve evolved so now I insert an instant pod of coffee into my coffeemaker and read online sources. That way I can get depressed so much faster.

Lately the news makes me feel mad, agitated, and helpless. Children are beheaded in the name of religion? Neighborhood stores are looted to avenge a shooting? The Ebola virus will kill us soon? And, another tragedy reported this morning: the Aspen trees are dying across the West.

Every now and then a positive story flutters across the news like a cookie crumb. I grab it and wish for the whole cookie. But that brings another item about health issues and how we’re all going to die of obesity, unless we get Ebola first or walk into a convenience store and get shot. I’m considering exchanging my morning coffee for a Bloody Mary. Or two.

So, I switched from the news to my favorite blogs. I knew my midlife friends could add some perspective and wit to brighten my mood, but I got immersed in the Mommy Bloggers. They’re funny and edgy, but sometimes I cringe at their victimhood, and I want to retort, “Buck up, Sisters, and cuddle that screaming toddler before he packs his bag and moves out.” I’d like to remind them that they will live longer without their children than with them. And soon those perky boobs will be swinging down at their bulging waist and their tight necks will resemble a dryer hose.

My daughter knows I’m addicted to the morning news, so she gently suggested I try a morning meditation. Though I grew up during the Age of Aquarius, I chose to avoid the hippie movement and selected the path of college degree and full-time job. That decision proved to be correct and enabled my children to have new clothes and orthodontic treatments. Being still to meditate seemed like new-age silliness, and everyone knows I can’t sit quietly. Oh look, there’s a squirrel!

But today, after becoming enraged at the photo taken by a proud father of his 7-year-old son holding a man’s severed head, I shut down the news feed and enrolled in a three-week meditation course led by Deepak Chopra and Oprah. I was skeptical at first, especially when told to be still and silently repeat a Sanskrit Mantra “Ananda Hum” – I am Bliss. I almost fell asleep, but then the mantra continued to whisper in my brain. I peeked open one eye to make sure no one was watching, then I returned to the mantra. After 15 minutes – a lifetime – I was totally relaxed. I even felt sad when a bell chimed and the mediation was over. Reality set in: It’s Monday. Time to do laundry.

I’ll admit that the meditation was lovely, and I intend to repeat it tomorrow on my patio sitting beneath the little bell I got years ago in Thailand. The bell has been hanging patiently on my arbor, waiting for me to appreciate its simple significance. My goal today is to fret less and seek happiness more. And, I intend to pray for peace and to buy some Aspen trees to plant.