Elaine Ambrose

Bestselling Author, Ventriloquist, & Humorist

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Elaine Ambrose

Midlife Cabernet: Teenage Girls Make Me Crazy

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I’ll probably be “unfriended” by some teenage acquaintances and/or receive several emails criticizing me for being an old fart, but I can’t stop wondering and worrying about some of today’s young women. I’d like to subpoena a few of them, cloister them in a room under a bright spotlight, and begin with the following inquisition:

  1. Why are you so incredibly boy-crazy? Your Facebook posts magnify your desperate angst about (a) finding, (b) pleasing, or (c) losing a male. Then you repeat (a), (b), and (c.) Thirty years ago, women worked overtime and never took a sick day so we could prove that we were strong, independent, equal to men, and could use our skills to support ourselves and our children. Your woeful insecurity mocks our valiant efforts for self-reliance. Please know that the confident women of my generation never begged for a relationship because men were attracted to our strength and competence.
  2. What’s with the slutty clothes? Yes, I’m old and my body is waging a war against gravity so I can’t wear today’s hip fashions. Yet, I don’t understand why you think it’s appropriate or cool to wear clothes that accentuate muffin tops, camel toes, and flopping cleavage. Really, it is unattractive.
  3. Why don’t you know basic grammar? Some of you seem to be illiterate and that will hinder future job potential and prohibit any invitation to mingle with people who can communicate using complete sentences. In writing, you don’t know the correct usage of your and you’re or it’s and its. I cringe every time I read a post that slobbers, “Your the best!” I take out a hammer and smack my fingers so I won’t retort, “You’re the uneducated.”
  4. Why do you listen to music and watch movies that degrade women? I don’t want to be called a “Ho” over 100 times in some rambling rap, and I refuse to patronize a film that shows weak women craving the evil touch of an unfaithful, bloodsucking vampire. At least Hunger Games portrayed a strong, fierce female. Please, take archery lessons.
  5. Why don’t you celebrate your youthful glory? Enjoy life now before your body and mind turn into wobbly sacks of tepid mush. I exercise five days a week just to keep my boobs from falling below my navel. I do crossword puzzles so my brain will be alert enough to remember the ingredients for a BLT. And I read books – they are handheld, bound publications of pages with printed words that tell a story or give advice. Try them sometime.

I acknowledge that there are many intelligent, talented, and confident teenage women who will survive and thrive without my rants and lectures. I eagerly cheer them on their journey and ask that they shine as examples for those anxious young girls who don’t give a rip about their potential and only care about the latest cowboy who saunters into town. Show them that they shouldn’t squander the vibrancy and opportunities of youth or they could become bitter old women. Take it from an old friend: The best is yet to come and it’s well worth the wait.

Today’s blog is fueled by a 2009 Dusted Valley BFM red wine from Walla Walla. This moderately priced wine is another great find from Washington, and comes from the Wahluke Slope of the Stone Tree Vineyard. I really need a road trip to Walla Walla.

Midlife Cabernet: Little Beauty Shop of Horrors

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My hair salon offered a holiday special that included a free upper lip wax with any regular service. Being in a festive mood after my haircut, I gleefully agreed and prepared for my face to be smooth as a baby’s butt. Instead, the pretty young hairdresser plastered enough hot wax to remove Geraldo Rivera’s mustache and when she ripped it off, the wax tore off patches of skin from my tender lip. I was left with bloody scabs just in time for important year-end meetings and jolly Christmas parties.

“I’m so sorry,” she gushed as she smeared Vaseline across the ravaged lip. “Your lip is so thin some wax accidentally smeared over it.”

So now she had inflicted bodily harm AND insulted my features. (I love my lip because it’s the only thin thing on my body.) I looked around for a hot curling iron to shove up her nose but my eyes were tearing too much to see clearly. Instead, I did what most women do: I said it was okay. Why in the hell did I say that? It wasn’t okay. I was in breathless pain and blood was oozing from my greasy lip.

She still needed to style my hair, so she handed me the latest issue of Cosmopolitan Magazine and offered a cup of coffee. I snarled no because I didn’t want to plunge my battered mouth into steaming hot liquid. She turned on the blow dryer and I anticipated she would set my hair on fire to make me forget the pain in my lip.

The perfect faces in the magazine only taunted my hapless predicament. I flipped to an article titled “52 Hot Crazy Sex Moves.” One suggestion to ignite my inner sex kitten was to spank my lover with a paddle that left heart-shaped marks on his butt. Why would I do that? To make him forget my abused mouth? My inner sex kitten would rather have some milk and take a nap, and Studley would prefer a sandwich and a cold beer.

Another provocative article discussed the serious topic of sex toys and endorsed a vibrator shaped like a candy cane. I often have small grandchildren running around the house so I immediately erased the image of them finding such a device and happily bringing it to the holiday dining table for all the guests to see. Turn the page, turn the page.

As a writer, I often wonder who writes the trash in women’s magazines. Some writer actually pitches a ridiculous story and gets paid to write it. Maybe I should submit an article titled “Hot Crazy Sex Moves for Those Over 50.” I’ll bet a month’s supply of iron tablets and stool softener pills than it would get rejected.

Cosmopolitan Magazine has been published since 1886 and has paid subscriptions from 3 million readers. It has 64 international editions printed in 35 languages and is distributed to more than 100 countries, including Mongolia. The temperature there is now -22 degrees. The natives are so bundled in warm clothes that a swat on the butt with a seductive paddle wouldn’t be noticed. Maybe I could write an article about how to get pleasure by sending your hairdresser to Mongolia. I’d laugh but that would hurt.

Today’s blog was fueled by a 2009 Lamadrid Malbec from Argentina. I think the best Malbecs are from Argentina – but I may need to sample other regions. My market research is never finished.

Midlife Cabernet: A Time to Laugh, a Time to Smack Something

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The Book of Ecclesiastes in the Holy Bible was written more than two thousand years ago, just before I was born. Chapter III contains the famous verses about there being a time, a season, and a purpose for everything. Who needs modern self-help books and expensive therapy when this astute advice explains it all?

Over the years, I’ve read various books and watched videos that promise to provide all the answers. Just put it out there! Expect and visualize greatness! Here is the secret! All this advice is encouraging and motivational until a child gets a terminal illness or a loved one dies too soon or you lose your job to the company trollop. Then all the good vibrations, humming, and drumming won’t stop your sorrow. That’s when there’s a time to weep.

A few times, I’ve gone beyond the weeping stage and visualized smashing something and/or someone with a hammer. The most recent example of imaginary vindication relates to the embarrassing fact that I was swindled by a local businessman I thought was a friend. I resent the loss of tens of thousands of dollars, but mostly I’m chagrined at the reality that I’m not as smart as I thought. The retaliatory hammer swings both ways.

To compound the humiliation, this isn’t the first time this year I’ve lost money to unethical con artists. Maybe it will get easier after the funds are all gone. I’ll write the last check to that nice man from Nigeria because he promised a 200% return on investment.

After being swindled, it was easy to get bitter and distrustful. But, that’s no fun. As many advice gurus accurately note, being angry at someone only allows the jerk to live rent-free in my head. There are abundant memories and triumphant visions that fit much better into my mind, and they don’t leave a scowl on my face or lead to prison.

In the late 1950s, Pete Seeger adapted the words from Ecclesiastes to write the song “Turn Turn Turn.” The most popular rendition was performed by The Byrds in 1965, and I fondly remember singing the tune as I rode my horse in the country. The song included the words from the Bible verses, ending with “A time for peace.” Seeger added six words: “I swear it’s not too late.” After the worldwide popularity of the song, he later remarked that he received too much credit for only writing six words.

If I can forgive and forget the scoundrels who cheated me, that makes one small step toward world harmony. On a broader scale, if the volatile tribes in the Middle East just could forgive their neighbors because some ancestor stole a goat 500 years ago, maybe we all could work together to save the angry planet from imminent destruction. Maybe there is a season for that. I swear it’s not too late.

Lyrics to “Turn Turn Turn”

Original Text from the Book of Ecclesiastes, Chapter III, verses 1-8, Chapter I, verse 4.

Adapted by Pete Seeger

(Chorus) To Everything (Turn, Turn, Turn)
There is a season (Turn, Turn, Turn)
And a time for every purpose, under Heaven

A time to be born, a time to die
A time to plant, a time to reap
A time to kill, a time to heal
A time to laugh, a time to weep

(Chorus)

A time to build up, a time to break down
A time to dance, a time to mourn
A time to cast away stones, a time to gather stones together

(Chorus)

A time of love, a time of hate
A time of war, a time of peace
A time you may embrace, a time to refrain from embracing

(Chorus)

A time to gain, a time to lose
A time to rend, a time to sew
A time to love, a time to hate
A time for peace, I swear it’s not too late

(Free punctuation tidbit for writers: The titles of books are italicized except for the title of the Bible.)

Today’s blog was fueled by a Raymond Cabernet, a robust wine for $10 a glass at Bella Aquila in Eagle. Tell Niki that Elaine sent you.

Today’s Cabernet

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Today’s blog was fueled by a glass of 2002 Rodney Strong Symmetry Meritage from Alexander Valley. It’s a fantastic blend of Cabernet Sauvignon, Merlot, and Cabernet Franc. This bottle sells for $60 retail but I got it for less because I brought a case back from a recent trip to wine country. I’m celebrating because my precocious granddaughter took her first steps today! She’s not quite 11 months old – but she’s already on her way to explore the world. Cheers and best wishes to this incredible baby girl.

Midlife Cabernet: Keeper of the DNR File

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The call comes at any hour: “Your mother is in an ambulance on the way to the hospital.” I grab the DNR File and go, anticipating that she will survive the latest calamity just as she has for the past 86 years. Her mind and body are frail but her heart is strong, and her determination to live should be studied for medical research because she’ll outlive all of us.

I use dark humor as my own survival technique, so accept my apology if this seems offensive. Only daughters of invalid parents can understand the experience of being the Keeper of the DNR File, a responsibility I willing, respectfully accepted 24 years ago. But sometimes, when I’m speeding away with The File, I yell at the universe because she has suffered too much and I can’t do anything except carry the instructions that prove she has chosen Do Not Resuscitate.

If you are designated as the Keeper of the DNR File, that means you’re probably the only daughter. Somehow sons aren’t willing or able to assume the responsibilities. Here is what you’ll need:

1. A POST Document – the Idaho Physician Orders for Scope of Treatment – that outlines what lifesaving procedures the patient wants. The form is signed in advance by the patient and a doctor and includes choices from Allow Natural Death to Use Aggressive Intervention. There should be an additional category for Survivors of the Great Depression. These people redefine the human capacity for survival.
2. A copy of the Living Will designating you at the Power of Attorney over Health Care. This role can lead you to drink. More.
3. A photo identification of the patient. My mother no longer drives – there was that unfortunate incident when she drove through the garage wall – but you can get a non-driver, photo ID at the Department of Motor Vehicles. If you have any problems at the DMV, just threaten to leave your mother sitting there in her wheelchair and walk away. Works every time.
4. A detailed inventory of all medications including doses. This list will cause you to throw down your plate of maple bars and enroll in multiple exercise programs while you still have time.
5. Copies of health insurance information including Social Security number, Medicaid number, and any supplemental insurance details. Then toss in some medications (chocolate, vodka) for yourself because it can be a bumpy ride.
For my mother’s DNR file, I also include some spiritual music because she likes it and because it keeps me from dissolving into a puddle of mush when she revives and doesn’t know who I am or why I’m there. That’s when I pray for an extra jolt of my mother’s tenacity for me because I’m dangerously close to jumping out of the hospital’s top floor window.

Last month my mother suffered a stroke and we got all the way to POST Section C: No Feeding tube. No IV fluid. No Antibiotics. The Hospice staff told me she had 72 hours to live and to make funeral arrangements so I did. Then after 50 hours without food or water she opened her eyes and said, “Hi!” Cue spiritual music. Avoid the windows.

Each calamity is traumatic. Over the past 16 years there have been serious car accidents, a broken back, a broken hip and other broken bones, severe falls which resulted in concussions, and numerous bruises, stitches, slurring of words, bouts of pneumonia, dementia issues, and several stays in various rehabilitation facilities. It truly breaks my heart to see her in these situations, and all I can do is hold her hand, play music, read to her, and just be there. Several times the medical staff has counseled me in hushed tones that she wouldn’t live. I usually chuckle and say, “Just watch.”

I don’t mean to be flippant about my mother’s health. As I explained, I use humor to cope with stressful situations. When my own DNR File is passed to my children, I will include special instructions: If I can’t have any quality of life, put a red clown nose on my nose, pull the plug, and enjoy a grand party with abundant music, laughter, and chocolate. And, don’t forget the Cabernet.

Today’s blog is fueled by a 2010 Duckhorn Merlot from Napa Valley. It’s this month’s selection from the Wine Club at Crush Wine Bar in Eagle. This delicious blend of Merlot and Cabernet Sauvignon provides the perfect anecdote to any stressful situation. Taxi cabs are available.

Corned Beef and College Buddies

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Did you know that the “corn” in corned beef relates to the “corns” or grains of salt used to cure the beef? Now you know. Did you know that college buddies can get together and laugh over stories they’ve shared since 1970? Yes, you knew that.I had a fun BFF event over the weekend. Some college friends got together to celebrate a sorority award given to one of our Delta Gamma sisters. Then we went to see the movie “Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day” at the Flicks in Boise. (I love the Flicks because you can have wine and popcorn during the movie.) The movie was delightful – the fun plot included rewards for the “older woman” (finally!) and there was no blood, profanity, or gratuitous pandering. Then we went across the street for beer, more wine, and corned beef and cabbage to celebrate St. Patrick’s Day. Is that a fun day, or what?I must raise a glass and toast my Irish heritage. My fraternal grandmother’s family came from Ireland where she was related to the boisterous, heavy-drinking Turner Clan and the mild, potato-farming McClelland Clan. I have loyally inherited their lust for suds and spuds. So, here’s a toast to all Irish and Irish-for-a-day friends. Sorry, but I just can’t do green beer.