Elaine Ambrose

Bestselling Author, Ventriloquist, & Humorist

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Elaine Ambrose

Podcast: The Midlife Laughter Challenge

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My podcast entitled “The Midlife Laughter Challenge” has been published at JenningsWire. Click the link below to read the full post and listen to the audio.

Elaine Ambrose, who through her books, blogs, and speaking engagements, encourages women over fifty to discover the happiness that comes from having a consistent laughter routine.

Her new book, Midlife Cabernet, recently won a national humor award as well as a four-star rating from ForeWord Reviews, a prominent national reviewer. Elaine podcasts with JenningsWire following her stand-up comedy routine at the Erma Bombeck Writers’ Workshop convention.

Click here to read more!

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My Guest Blog on The Writer Revived

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http://www.thewriterrevived.com/2014/07/the-summer-series-elaine-ambrose.html

 

Elizabeth Flora Ross is my new best friend.

The Summer Series – Elaine Ambrose
As I was approaching my Summer Series this year, I decided to do something a little different. In addition to inviting specific writers (I always have some in mind), I put out a call via social media to see who might be interested in participating. I was amazed and humbled to find myself inundated with emails. I filled my calendar in the blink of an eye, and sheepishly had to turn people away.

Now I get to be introduced to great new writers, too! The purpose of this series when I launched it was twofold: to take a break from writing during a season of the year when I have less time, and to offer fresh voices and perspectives in this space. It has been extremely well received. And this year, I am loving it even more because by opening up to submissions, I have been exposed to writers and work I might not otherwise have had the pleasure of reading.

My guest today was one of the many talented writers who responded to my call for submissions. We connected through the Women of Midlife (I cannot tell you how happy I am I found that awesome group on Facebook). Elaine Ambrose is an author, syndicated blogger, and publisher from Eagle, Idaho. Her latest book, Midlife Cabernet, won the 2014 Silver Medal for Humor from the Independent Publisher Book Awards program and received a 4-Star review from ForeWord Reviews. Preview her books, writer’s retreats, and blogs on her website.

The Seven Dwarfs of Midlife

Some of our darkest psychological issues could be blamed on the horrifying fairy tales of our youth. A wolf ate grandma. Singing mice pushed a poor girl into a pumpkin driven by strangers. A little boy was locked in an oven for nibbling on a candy house. It’s no wonder we overeat and drink so we can smother those early memories of pain and fear!

Snow White is the fairy tale most likely to cause the need for lifelong counseling: You’re so beautiful that your mother wants to kill you and eat your liver, so you run away to live with seven tiny men. Serious medication/chocolate/wine is required to deal with such a story.

The Brothers Grimm wrote Snow White in 1812 and updated it in 1854 to soften some of the more gruesome details. In the original version, the evil mother tries three times but fails to murder her pretty daughter Snow White and then demands that a huntsman kill the little girl and bring back her lungs and liver as proof of her death. The huntsman instead slaughters a wild boar and takes the organs back to the queen who orders the cook to prepare them for her to eat. And you thought Hunger Games was violent.

After surviving the hunter, the girl runs into the forest and finds a tiny cottage belonging to the dwarfs. They agree to let her stay if she will “keep house, cook, make beds, wash, sew, and knit, and keep everything clean and orderly.” Really, she should have returned to the castle, thrown the wicked queen and the seven dwarfs into the sea, and then ordered the cook to make her a chocolate cake and serve it with a bold Cabernet.

In 1937, Walt Disney made the story into the first full length cartoon, and he added a few changes to again soften the horror. The mother became the stepmother Queen who only tried once, not three times, to kill Snow White. Disney changed the ending so that the evil woman fell over a cliff instead of keeping Grimms’ account of her dancing to death in scalding iron shoes. Lovely improvement, Walt.

In our innocent youth, we never questioned why the mirror talked back when the wicked woman asks, “Who is the fairest one of all?” But then, we also didn’t question the gruesome act of murdering a child or why the lovely and fairest Snow White moved into a home with seven little men. Or why every helpless Disney female needed a handsome prince to save her. But, that was long ago, before we matured, scoffed at such nonsense, and created our own characters to imitate, appropriately named “The Seven Dwarfs of Midlife.” Here are a few of my middle-aged, imaginary friends:

DOC. For years, we have coddled children, spouses, wandering neighbor kids, aging parents, and anyone at work who needed a bandage. Now, it’s time to take care of ourselves and prescribe home remedies that include naps, good books, laughter with friends, chocolate, and good wine.

HAPPY. Try to laugh every day, and aim to enjoy a weekly belly laugh that makes your eyes water, your sides hurt, and could cause you to wet your pants and snort liquid from your nose. Now, that’s fun!

SNEEZY. Have you noticed that suddenly you’re allergic to crowds, dust mites, and dirty diapers? Avoid these irritants, at all costs.

DOPEY. During and after menopause, our brain chooses to take sporadic vacations, so we often discover that we can’t remember the ingredients for a BLT. Just relax and wait for it to return.

GRUMPY. I see crabby people. They’re everywhere. Maybe they exist for me to entertain, so I’ll do my best to force them to smile. If that doesn’t work, they can go away and live in the forest with the wolf and the witch.

BASHFUL. The only time I’m timid is when I endure a mammogram, a colonoscopy, or a pap smear. Not even my bravest attitude can alter the trepidation I feel when someone manipulates my private parts, mutters, and writes down an intricate diagnosis. Depending upon the outcome, I then become either Grumpy or Happy.

SLEEPY. Midlife gives us a new appreciation for an afternoon nap. We try not to snooze when we’re driving or attending an important meeting, therefore we don’t schedule such activities between noon and dinner time.

Wilhelm and Jacob, the intrepid duo of the Brothers Grimm, wrote or revised more than 200 folk tales 160 years ago. The stories endure and adapt in various versions, much like middle-aged women. To celebrate my older, wiser face, I recently taped a note onto my mirror: “Hot Damn, Gorgeous! You’re going to live happily ever after!”

“Hot Damn” is right! I love it! And I really like your imaginary friends, Elaine.

Midlife Cabernet: From Harley-Davidsons to Hostess Ding Dongs

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elaine harley trialIn a former life, I rode a Harley-Davidson motorcycle, drank gallons of cold beer, ate greasy chicken wings, and made love at noon in a mountain meadow. Now I drive an SUV, sip laxative tea, and snack on protein bars. Passion is pleasurable, as long as the lights are low and the experience requires no more than three positions. I’m in my transitional phase from badass to bad back.

Going through the change means more than searching for quarters in the couch. Middle-age has the power to turn us from free-spirited, sex kittens into snoozing old cats who occasionally perk up for a romp between the moisture-wicking sheets. With erratic eruptions of body heat so intense that it melts the polish off of our hairy toes, we’re truly hot women, but in a different way.

Dealing with night sweats, insomnia, forgetfulness, and irritable bowel system are nature’s way of saying, “Park the motorcycle, Honey. Find a comfortable chair, preferably in a cold meat locker. If your lover is a Real Man, he’ll wear a winter coat and join you. And if he brings a plate of Hostess Ding Dongs, that man is a keeper.”

Eventually the hot flashes diminish in intensity until you feel confident enough to attend dinner parties again. But then an entirely new assortment of maladies attacks your aging mind and body. You’ll graze the buffet table like a famished hog, bend over to pick up a dropped cheese ball, and fart so loud that the jazz band stops playing. Then you’ll burst into tears and lock yourself in the bathroom where you’ll spend an hour plucking black hairs from your chin.

There’s no need to remain in the bathroom because midlife also brings constipation so profound that it should be studied by civil engineers. “Look at this one, Mac. She could stop a log jam in the Mississippi River during a spring flood.”

Memory loss is another irritating condition of getting older. When I started to forget things, such as the names of my children, I developed some techniques to improve my memory skills. Here is the best idea I can remember: Keep your brain active by practicing word and math games. My favorite exercise is to realize that a 50 percent off sale on shoes means I can get two pairs for the price of one. Or, twenty for the price of ten! See how math and memory can be fun!

We’re getting older because we didn’t die young. Grab your bifocals, if necessary, and look on the bright side. If you survive midlife, you can do anything. Your kids are grown so you don’t need to clean up projectile vomiting or deal with head lice. And you don’t need to bake forty dozen cupcakes for the school carnival and then buy them back again. And take the money you once spent on tampons and buy Ding Dongs and wine instead. Best of all, you can sleep naked with the bedroom door open. The Harley-Davidson may be gone, but the free and feisty woman lives to seize another day.

Midlife Cabernet: Saying “Happy Birthday” to an Ex-Father

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Scan_20140703 (2)For ten years, I enjoyed membership in a large Italian family, and they excelled in festive reunions, dramatic gestures, abundant food and drink, and naming several people Michael. After I canceled my membership by divorcing one of the Michaels, I was no longer included in the festivities. That’s another disadvantage of divorce. I really enjoyed those parties.

But, because we’re celebrating our national freedoms and because I still admire many of my former relatives, I’d like to wish a happy 90th birthday to my ex-father-in-law. He’s one of the Greatest Generation, a retired military colonel with a distinguished career, and a sassy, stubborn man who loves the dolce vita. And, he loves his six children, their spouses, and all their children and their children. And, all the aunts, uncles, and cousins. We could still be good friends, if it weren’t for that unpleasant divorce issue.

The entire extended family is gathering this weekend to celebrate his birthday. After making a comment on Facebook about wanting to be there, I received a curt message telling me to stop harassing the family, go away, and stay away. My first reaction was, “Wow. This message contains three spelling mistakes and five punctuation errors in only 66 words.”

But I don’t want to attack the writer because I admire her defense of the family and I sincerely want to apologize for offending her. However, I think she should know that at my age, there’s not a chance in hell I will change. And, I’ll probably correspond with those she told me to leave alone. In responding to caustic messages, there is a fine balance between “Bless You” and “Bite Me.”

I’m grateful that I keep in contact with my ex-sister-in-law and her charming children. Removing the in-law label still makes her a sister. Our friendship extends beyond marriage licenses. I’m not advocating divorce, especially in a loyal Italian family, but I offer an olive branch of peace to those who resent me. Preferably that branch produced extra-virgin, first cold-pressed olive oil in Italy.

There are many fond memories of my former family. I miss seeing how the nieces and nephews grew up, and I’d love to have some authentic green lasagna again. But I respect their decisions not to stay in contact with me. The last time I saw the entire group was when I sang “Ave Maria” at the funeral mass for my mother-in-law. The Italians know how to celebrate life, birth, death, and any occasion to bring the family together, open several bottles of wine, and sing, quarrel, and sing again.

I’ve joyfully remarried, and my husband continues to send birthday and Christmas greetings to his former mother-in-law because she was an important part of his life for 25 years. That’s fine because she’s a lovely woman, and she is the grandmother of his children. However, the family reunions are different now because my husband’s family contains many Southern Baptists and they don’t drink alcohol. They’re good people, and we have plenty of designated drivers.

Years ago I sat in a little restaurant in Rome, Italy with my ex-father-in-law (what a clumsy title), and we clinked glasses and shared good wine. I’ll toast him again in honor of his birthday, miles away but with earnest respect. Buon compleanno, Babbo.

When Love is Stronger than Disability

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mom-mirabelI’d like to share a photograph of my invalid mother with dementia and my sweet 4-year-old granddaughter with Down syndrome. Today KTVB-TV, the largest station in Idaho, chose it as “Photo of the Day.” My caption: “There is no disability when communication is shared with love.”

The hands are compelling – one is young and healthy and the other is gnarled from a lifetime of work and prayer. The gentle scene suggests that labels and disabilities are less important when sincere affection is present. As the world is raging out of control and my vision is assaulted with images of hatred, destruction, and clenched fists, I prefer to focus on a brief but powerful act of love. Hugs can heal.

The Joy of Traveling with Your Children (Over 30)

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toes-caboIf given the choice between traveling with small children and having a root canal, I’d be at the dentist office sucking laughing gas before noon. I adore kids but the logistics of getting them more than 100 miles is too much to endure unless they can be shipped like golf clubs or crated like pets.

After my baby filled his diapers with an adult-strength load during takeoff on a three-hour flight, I finally realized there was no reason to ever travel with youngsters. At least not in the same airplane.

Children under five years old don’t know what a vacation is, so tell them that the city park is just like Disneyland except without grinning pirates shooting guns, drinking booze, and chasing women on the Pirates of the Caribbean ride. Better yet, turn on the sprinklers in the backyard, sit down with a glass of wine, and watch the little darlings giggle and wiggle until they’re tired enough for a nap. Then invite your hubby to swill some whiskey and chase you around the yard. Yo ho ho! Everyone will be happy and you’ll save thousands of dollars. This is a win-win situation.

Traveling with little children requires parents to lie in order to survive the ordeal. Here are a few of my desperate but necessary distortions of the truth I coughed up while attempting to orchestrate the illusive perfect family vacation when my kids were under ten years old.

Driving in rush-hour traffic near Disneyland.

“Of course, it’s okay to pee into a potato chip can, Honey, because it’s against the law to get off the freeways in Los Angeles.”

Trapped at the airport during another flight delay.

“Please stop whining and you can have a new puppy/pony/playhouse if we get home before you’re in high school.”

After four hours of driving through a desolate desert.

“Stop hitting your brother/sister or I will park this car right now and we’ll live off the land and eat scorpions until you can learn to behave.”

After two hours of “Are we there yet?” and “How much longer?”

“Sorry, kids. Mommy is going away for a while.” Then I would pull over, stop, and play dead. Worked every time.

I still mutter like a curmudgeon when I see young parents in airports juggling a small mountain of luggage that includes diapers, food, enormous strollers, DVD players, toys, and clothes that could stock a child care center. My ancestors walked for months to Idaho along the Oregon Trail, and they didn’t transport a jungle gym, play-n-pac, IPad, a breast pump, or a bottle sterilizer. Their kids and clothes were bathed once a week in the river, air-dried on a log, and stored in the wagon for the day’s journey. They survived just fine.

Imagine if any pioneer child had complained:

“Pa, the wagon’s too bumpy!”

“Hush, Child, and go trap a rabbit, skin it, and help your Ma make dinner. We’re walking ten miles tomorrow.”

The first time I saw the movie The Sound of Music I yelled “Fraud!” at the end as the family climbed over the Alps singing in perfect harmony in clean clothes. When my kids were little, we couldn’t walk from the house to the car without someone falling headfirst into a mud puddle or instigating a belching contest. And forget about taking a hike together. Any incline more than two inches would cause howls of dismay with repeated pleas to be carried. And that’s when they were teenagers! But, in deference to the movie, if evil Nazis were chasing us, we would manage to escape together, with or without matching lederhosen.

One splendid advantage of getting older is that family trips are easier and less hectic. My kids are in their thirties and have their own children to handle, so I just need to pack yoga pants, t-shirts, and a wine opener. We recently traveled with 11 family members on a week-long vacation. I was overjoyed to play with the grandkids and sing songs and tell stories. Then came Happy Hour and their parents could take over. As they walked away with the boisterous brood, I overheard one of my adult children say, “Stop hitting your sister or we’ll go live in the desert and eat scorpions until you learn to behave.” My work here is done.