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Please Pass the Potatoes and Poetry
My upcoming memoir Frozen Dinners contains a chapter titled “Potatoes and Poetry.” The manuscript chronicles how I spent my childhood days on a potato farm near the village of Wendell, Idaho and wrote poetry and short stories after chores were finished. My first national poetry publication came when I was 12 and in junior high school.
That poem titled “Endless River,” written on the banks of the Snake River, is one of eight poems in the memoir. Now I cringe at the novice pace and irregular rhythm, but I didn’t change the poem for the book. Subsequent poems were written using techniques with iambic tetrameter, rhyme schemes, free verse, or sonnets after my English teachers taught me about meter, rhythm, and rhyme. They also encouraged me to read poets Emily Dickinson, Robert Lewis Stevenson, Robert Frost, and Walt Whitman.
I continued to write poetry and short stories through high school and college. Noting the job market wasn’t too favorable for poets, I entered a rewarding career in journalism. Now that I’m mostly retired, I intend to write more poetry.
My memoir is a departure from my humorous books, including Midlife Happy Hour and Midlife Cabernet, and I was hesitant to include the poems. But, I decided to take a chance and include eight. Here are three of the poems in the book.
I wrote this poem in memory of my twin sister who never breathed.
Solitary Sibling
In the mysterious void of initial creation
I shared my mother’s womb
with a growing mass of defective development.
She came first and was promptly discarded.
I emerged yelling and the doctor was elated
at my ten fingers and ten toes.
I was worth keeping.
Now free and independent,
I avoid darkness and cramped quarters.
Still, I acknowledge my first companion
and wonder if the heartbeat I remember
was my mother’s or hers.
Did I feel my sister’s soul evaporate
as she lost her humanity?
Or did I absorb her essence?
That would explain my ambivalent beliefs
and excuse my sporadic loneliness.
This poem describes the year I rode my bike on a daily newspaper route.
1964 Town Crier
Ragged, rhythmic clouds of breath escape from my mouth
as I push my burdened bicycle over the patches of frozen snow.
Frost fills my nostrils and hardens wayward hair
poking beneath my knit hat like spikes of rigid spider legs.
The only sounds on this dark moonless morning
come from the rustle of my frozen pant legs
and my boots squeaking and crunching through the crusty layers.
I know every house on my paper route,
so I keep my head down in a futile attempt to ignore the bitter
winds that slice through my coat.
Take a newspaper from the bag, slap it into a roll,
stick it into the can, keep going.
I’m 12 years old, and I’m outside in the brutal
Idaho winter at 5:30 am to deliver 70 newspapers.
Every day. By myself.
My fingers hurt. Snot freezes on my lip.
A dog growls but doesn’t leave its shelter. Crunch. Breathe.
My bag becomes lighter as a sliver of daylight
emerges through the dark.
I arrive home, and my father sits to read the newspaper
while my mother hands me hot cocoa with marshmallows
happily bobbing and melting on top.
My aching hands circle the mug, and I lean over
so the steam can warm my face.
Silent tears roll down red cheeks.
I am the Messenger. I am the Town Crier.
This poem, written in iambic tetrameter and an ABAB rhyme scheme, won a poetry writing contest from Writers Digest.
Idaho Farm Girl
This vibrant land yields ample crops
and cradles coffins of the dead,
expanding to the mountain tops
and plunging to the canyon bed,
still clings to me on muddy feet
and tempts me not to leave so fast.
This family dirt is bittersweet;
the dust to dust of ages past.
With scratch of hoe on stubborn weed,
and boots on trails in search of space,
this sun-burned girl, the scattered seed,
returns to claim my resting place.
Three of the seven stories in my children’s book Gators & Taters are written in rhyming poetry. Still back on the farm, the first story involves a truck driver named Wendell who hauls two alligators named Cleo and Clyde. They love Idaho potatoes. Gratuitous plug: Gators & Taters won a writing award for Children’s Literature in the 2018 Independent Press Awards Competition.
Frozen Dinners – A Memoir of a Fractured Family will be released by Brown Books Publishing Group in November. The book is available for presale, and the premiere party is scheduled for November 8 at Telaya Wine Company in Garden City. The eBook version also will be available in November.
Anti-Aging with Puppets and Punchlines
Introducing my new Speaker Page.
My public speaking career spans 40 years, and I’ve been telling some of the same jokes since 1980. On a positive note, many people in the audience can’t remember my original jokes, or they don’t care if I’ve told them several times. They only want to laugh again because the world is far too crabby.
During a lull in a busy schedule of events, I’m organizing some speaking engagements for next year. My talented web designer, Rena McDaniel, of The Blogging 911, has redesigned my Speaker Page, and I’m delighted with the results. Interested event planners can view the page and find audio/visual clips, testimonials, and photos from past speeches. I’m ready for more gigs because preparing for a speech keeps the cobwebs out of my brain. Being on stage in front of laughing people is my favorite anti-aging routine.
Because I need to develop new material, I’m sharing my usual opening lines that are guaranteed to provoke laughter from a willing audience. I’ve even seen these anecdotes produce a faint smile from the most negative curmudgeons.
“It’s such a busy time of year. I’ve had company for weeks! I finally took my aunt to the airport this morning, but now I’m feeling guilty. Her plane doesn’t leave until next week.”
Rim shot.
I often begin humorous speeches with that joke because it always provokes laughter from the audience. Why? First, people can identify with being busy and dealing with house guests. Second, there is an unexpected twist at the end. You can substitute aunt with mother-in-law, depending upon the strength of your marriage and assuming she’s not in the audience.
No one says, “Oh, you shouldn’t have said that!” The audience knows I’m joking, but they laugh anyway because it’s a funny scenario. After they stop laughing, I immediately add a second image.
“My sweet aunt was sick last year, so I visited her. She was in bed, and as we talked I munched on peanuts in a bowl on her nightstand. I noticed that I had eaten all the peanuts so I offered to buy more. She said, ‘Oh, Elaine, I can’t eat peanuts because they hurt my teeth. I just suck off the chocolate and put them back in the bowl.”
That story also guarantees a laugh. Why? Because the audience can see my aunt sick in bed and feels tender support for my visit. Then the silly image of her sucking off the chocolate hits their funny bone. For added emphasis, I use a southern drawl for my aunt’s voice. It’s all in great fun and causes the group to relax and prepare for my speech. Without a humorous introduction, it would take more time to connect with the listeners.
A well-timed, original joke can be the beginning of a wonderful relationship between a speaker and an audience, and between friends. Caveat: don’t read jokes, and don’t tell them if you’re not comfortable with public speaking. Rehearse the stories out loud so you get the timing and phrasing correct. A well-delivered punch line can be a golden experience as the audience reacts and instantly loves you. Conversely, a dull, lifeless and insecure presentation is painful for everyone. Make sure the joke is not on you.
I’ve enjoyed speaking at several national conferences, including the Erma Bombeck Writers’ Workshop, the BAM Bloggers at Midlife Conference, the Type-A Parents Conference, and the Idaho Writers Guild annual writing conference. At all the presentations, I bring my bag of finger puppets and new anecdotes along with books to sell. Apparently, people want and need to be happy. I’ll do my part to facilitate a few chuckles and provoke boisterous laughter because there are too many grouchy people getting all the attention.
For public speaking engagements, I include my three top tips for adding humor to your life:
1. Switch off the news. Balance your intake of madness and mayhem with funny shows, movies, books and silly friends.
2. Avoid crabby people.Unless you’re a paid clinical psychiatrist, don’t try to solve everyone’s problems. Listen, be kind, and go hang out with those who like to laugh.
3. Practice laughter. Read daily positive, humorous affirmations and focus on all the good stories. Print a photograph of you laughing and attach it to a visible place in your home or car. If you don’t have a photo, stage one. You’ll like how you look.
Laughter is good for the body and soul. And, a sense of humor provides a great way to make and keep friends. As the American Author and Humorist Mark Twain said, “Humor is the great thing, the saving thing. The minute it crops up, all our irritation and resentments slip away, and a sunny spirit takes their place.”
Go forth, cause laughter, and enjoy the show. You’ll look young and vibrant.
Idaho Speakers Bureau Directory
Sing Along with “Kickin’ Chicken Wings”
Chicken Wings aren’t just for breakfast anymore. These easy, healthy snacks can cause perpetual crabby people to smack their lips, shout with joy, and run off to dance and sing in the streets. Impress a date, be the star of the luncheon, or make a batch and eat them all by yourself.
Recipe – Serves One Teenage Boy or Three Adults
Set oven to 400 degrees. To set the mood, play music from Queen and sip an adult beverage.
Assemble:
2 pounds of organic chicken wings (about 8)
¼ Cup plus two tablespoons of avocado oil
1 Cup of All-Purpose Batter Mix (Eliminate this ingredient to stay on Keto diet.)
½ teaspoon Sea Salt
Random twists of freshly ground black pepper
Dash of red pepper flakes, optional
Wash wings, pat dry with paper towel, cut apart at joint to make 16 pieces, cut off and discard wing tips.
Happily mix chicken pieces in bowl with oil, salt, and pepper until coated. Sing along with “Bohemian Rhapsody.”
Dump batter mix in a plastic bag and add the chicken. Smoosh around until the meat is covered.
Place pieces on large, rimmed baking sheet. Bake at 400 degrees for 30 minutes. Turn over each piece after 15 minutes. Broil for an additional 3 minutes.
Cool. Serve with butter dill sauce and/or BBQ sauce. Add a green salad, and congratulate yourself on eating healthy as you stomp and clap to “We Are the Champions.”
Share the last piece while singing “Somebody to Love.” Be happy.
Editorial Reviews are Positive for “Frozen Dinners” Memoir
Frozen Dinners – A Memoir of a Fractured Family is available for pre-order. The hardcover book and eBook will be available in November. The publisher is Brown Books Publishing of Dallas, Texas.
Here is the publisher’s summary of the book.
After World War II, the United States evolved economically through an explosive combination of opportunities, entrepreneurs, and growing industries. By 1954, families began to enjoy the new pastime of evening television and increased the demand for a new product known as frozen TV dinners. A poor father and farmer from Wendell, Idaho had the audacity and vision to start his own trucking company to haul and deliver frozen food across the country and subsequently built an impressive fortune that included several successful businesses. Elaine Ambrose, a bestselling author, departs from her award-winning humor to show life as this man’s daughter. She chronicles the struggles her family experienced under the strain of an absent father and describes the high tensions and familial rivalries that arose after his untimely death. Using actual courtroom transcripts, she tells of the brutal courtroom drama that propelled her mother into dementia. She hopes to offer hope and inspiration to others who endured a contaminated family story to prove that anyone may grow beyond painful memories and find success, happiness, and warmth for themselves
The editorial reviews are positive. Here are two:
“Full of luscious details, clear-eyed compassion, and enduring joy, Ambrose’s memoir gives us an insider’s view of one family’s rocky pursuit of the American Dream. Even when she is relating personal stories of conflict, loss, and grief, Ambrose does so with a survivor’s voice made strong by experience, stubbornness, humor, and love.”
—Kim Barnes
Author of the Pulitzer Prize Finalist Memoir: In the Wilderness: Coming of Age in Unknown Country
“Elaine Ambrose and I share the need to write as a tangible expression of life’s milestones. This tell-all memoir, Frozen Dinners, will resonate with anyone who has endured family dysfunction and will defrost the hearts of readers everywhere.”
—Joely Fisher, actress,singer, and author of Growing Up Fisher
A premiere party and book signing event will be in Boise in November. Details to be announced.
When Your Audience Says “Stop Talking”
At a recent presentation, I was shocked when the audience seemed irritated because I was there. They refused to laugh at my jokes, so I began an energized speech sure to sway their misguided skepticism. I failed.
Throughout my writing and public relations career, I’ve presented hundreds of speeches and workshops. I follow a familiar routine of entering the room, greeting the participants, and embarking on proven techniques to earn an immediate laugh. The sparkle in their eyes and their animated body language tell me I have them in the palm of my hand. Surely, my provocative and brilliant oratory is destined to entertain and enlighten the world.
For paid appearances at national conferences, I arrange the details in advance and keep complete notebooks with facts about Power Point presentations, audio/visual equipment, handouts, room arrangements, conference schedules, key contacts, and important information about the audience. I’m less organized when I give free speeches to local organizations and usually pop into the meeting, do my thing, sell some books, and leave them laughing.
The Idaho Writers Guild organized a series of free workshops for local writers in the Boise area. Because I recently completed a memoir titled Frozen Dinners, I agreed to present a workshop about how to write a memoir. To prepare, I wrote and printed handouts and gathered business cards, bookmarks, and copies of my books. I promoted the event on social media and anticipated the two-hour workshop would be fun and easy.
I arrived at the Collister Library 20 minutes before my workshop and introduced myself to the staff. A kind woman escorted me to a meeting room full of a dozen women. I proceeded to unpack my supplies and arrange my books and materials. I noticed that they seemed aloof. That immediate rejection caused me to try harder and bring out my killer jokes, usually reserved for tepid audiences. This tactic didn’t work, so I kept talking, mentally scrambling to rearrange my outline. They continued to stare at me without emotion.
Self-doubt creeped over my confidence. Did they detect manure on my shoes because I grew up on a pig farm? Maybe my speaking career was over. Maybe I was a fraud. Maybe no one ever wanted to hear me talk or lead a workshop, and I should run away to live alone in the mountains. Then I noticed the women all had sewing projects on the table.
“Are you here for the writing workshop?” I asked.
“No. This is the weekly meeting of our needlepoint club, and we’ve been discussing new patterns,” said an older woman. I imagined her name was Blanche. She was working on a floral design for a pillowcase. The others continued to stare at me, their fingers holding pointed needles in midair.
“We didn’t know why you were speaking to us,” another woman said. She resembled my great-aunt Gertrude. “But, we didn’t know how to make you stop talking.”
I’ve heard that comment before, usually from teachers, bosses, and romantic dates. I reminded myself to stop agreeing to give workshops for free.
“I’m sorry,” I stammered as I gathered my supplies and stuffed them into my bags. “I guess you won’t want my books about menopause and midlife Cabernet.” They didn’t laugh. I made a mental note to investigate any mysterious crimes committed by stoic people who needlepoint.
I hurried out the door and wandered around the library until I found the room where my writing students were patiently waiting.
“We thought you weren’t coming,” the librarian said. She didn’t notice my eye twitching. She gave a glowing introduction and my confidence slowly returned. I arranged my books and materials, again, and launched into my workshop. They laughed within the first minute. I was back, and they were mine.
