Elaine Ambrose

Bestselling Author, Ventriloquist, & Humorist

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Midlife Happy Hour – An Excellent Excerpt

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Chapter Four – The World Can Kiss Our Attitude

We never decided what to name our group of six middle-aged women friends. Suggestions varied from “Six Pack” to “Six in the City” to “We Were Seven but One Died.” Every time we met, we would vote on a new name, but we couldn’t agree so we stayed with the “Midlife Happy Hour Club.”

 “That’s so boring,” Kitty said. “Can’t we add something sexy?” 

“How about that waiter?” Linda replied. The joke was old, but we were, too. We clinked our glasses, savored the martinis and wine, and settled into a familiar pattern of camaraderie. We had promised Pam, the one who died from breast cancer, that we would carry on without her.

 “Chop them off now so you won’t get sick!” She’d whispered at the end, as we took turns pressing ice chips onto her lips. We nodded in solemn agreement. “And promise me you’ll all stay friends. Keep laughing. You don’t need boobs to laugh.” 

Over the years, the Midlife Happy Hour Club gathered regularly to acknowledge the fact that life sucked so we should laugh hard. The agenda varied, and we could grow equally passionate about politics, religion, nail polish, or the best stool softener. Sometimes we placed a glass for Pam. 

Birthday Card Blues

One memorable occasion was to celebrate Linda’s birthday. Such annual affairs often took a wicked turn as greeting cards turned into cruel and unusual punishment for still being alive. 

“I’m weary of birthday cards that mock seasoned women,” said Debby. “Over the hill, my ass. We couldn’t climb a hill taller than a plate of cookies even with sturdy tennis shoes and an industrial crane.” We agreed and vowed to stop sending each other stupid, insulting cards. Unless, of course, the card included a lovely photo of fit, shirtless dudes in cowboy hats. We’re shallow like that. 

A flock of perfect women tittered past on heels that cost more than my first car. “Look at her,” laughed Debby as she adjusted her don’t-give-a-shit matronly body. “She’s so skinny if she swallowed an olive it would show in front and back. I should stab her with a fork to make sure she’s not a poster.”

Linda, the birthday babe, gasped with feigned indignation. “I read that some women are paying for a fake butt. Can you imagine making your behind bigger on purpose? I can see mine even when I walk forward, and I didn’t pay a dime extra for it!” 

“Stop,” Jenniffer said with mock chagrin. “At least we don’t have periods anymore and can wear white pants without worry.”

“Ha!” I retorted. “The last time I wore white pants my grandkids told me to hold still so they could show a movie on my butt.” 

We Love Midlife Happy Hour

Friends for Fifty Years

Kitty bit into a carrot cake muffin smeared with enough cream cheese frosting to adhere a Buick to the wall. “Mmm,” she moaned. “I just eat this for the vegetables.”

“True,” I agreed. “And this medicinal lemon drop martini has just enough citrus to cure my scurvy.”

We giggled and snorted with middle-aged abandon. We loved the glamorous gals, we really did, but our biggest consolation was knowing they were growing older, too, and would someday arrange their own midlife happy hour. By then, we would be watching reruns of The Carol Burnett Show and reading salacious novels in big type. We would live together in a quaint cottage near the park and pool our savings accounts to hire off-duty firemen to rub our feet. It was a glorious plan. 

(I’ll be reading excerpts from three books Friday evening in Garden City, Idaho at an event I’m hosting titled “ATaste of Poetry: Conversations with John Roedel.” John Roedel will read from his poetry and discuss storytelling to a sold-out audience. My readings will include three genres: memoir, children’s books, and humor. This excerpt is from “Midlife Happy Hour – Our Reward for Surviving Careers, Kids, and Chaos.” The book was a finalist for “Book of the Year for Humor” and won two writing awards from the Independent Press Book Awards program.)

“Melody” Flies to Family Advocates Program

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Melody’s Magical Flying Machine is an award-winning children’s book that features a girl with Down syndrome who uses a 3D printer to create a flying machine. Her positive attitude and creative storytelling abilities have delighted readers, educators, parents, book reviewers, and awards committees across the country. To accompany the book, two toys were designed by a 3D printer in Nampa, Idaho.

Fifty copies and 100 3D toys recently were donated to Family Advocates in Boise. The organization is dedicated to ending child abuse, Family Advocates addresses the full spectrum of need with comprehensive programs for both prevention and advocacy.

“We are excited to accept the donation of books and toys,” said Kathryn Seebold, executive director. “We organize a book drive for our Family Strengthening families a few times a year, and this would be a great addition to those events and to add to our children’s library.”

Three 2021 International Awards for Children’s Fiction

Publishers Weekly named the book an “Editor’s Pick for a Book of Outstanding Quality.” The review mentioned “vivid prose” and “imaginative tapestry that is Melody’s magical adventure.”

Kirkus Reviews reviewed the book as “a joyful, well-told story that celebrates the power of imagination.”

The book won international writing awards for children’s fiction from New York City Big Book Award, the Moonbeam Book Awards, and from the Independent Press Book Awards.

The book is illustrated by Idaho illustrator Caroline Zina. The paperback was published by Brown Books Kids. The book is a beginning chapter book for early readers and is available in paperback, eBook, and audiobook. The author is available to speak at read at area schools and civic organizations.

The Publisher’s Weekly review concluded: “This charming flight of fancy with an equally charming protagonist will delight readers who want to be both educated and entertained.”

 

 

(Illustrations have copyright protection)

Let’s Celebrate Truckers, Gators, and Taters

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To support truck drivers and inspire children to imagine award-winning storytelling, here is the first story in Gators & Taters – A Week of Bedtime Stories. The children’s book won a prestigious writing award for children’s literature from The Independent Press. (The story is written in poetry form with the accent on every third syllable using the same meter and rhyme scheme as the classic poem T’was the Night Before Christmas written in 1823 by Clement Clarke Moore.)

Available in Paperback, eBook, and Audiobook

 

 

 

 

Happy Alligators playing in potatoes

 

 

 

Cleo and Clyde wave bye-bye.

 

The story is available in paperback, eBook, and audiobook read by the author. Thanks to Patrick Bochnak for the festive illustrations.

Copyright Elaine Ambrose

 

The Reverse Vengeance Doll

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My friend gave me a stuffed doll with a sharp pin because someone hurt me so profoundly, I couldn’t cope with the emotional pain. The doll caused me to laugh. That’s what good people do when they know their friends are hurting.

In moments of frustration, I often grabbed the doll and took great delight in jabbing the pin around various parts of the stuffed body. The action relieved momentary hurt and stress, but the doll didn’t feel any retribution. I realized the pain remained in my heart.

I decided to try a different tactic. I poked the doll when I wanted to send positive thoughts to the person who continued to attack me. Now I send love and compassion with the same intensity I used to send hate and anger.

I don’t know if the intended person feels or acknowledges positive thoughts sent through the reverse vengeance doll, but I feel better. For me, the only way to heal from years of cruelty is to return unconditional love. That doesn’t mean I deserve to be a victim, or claim to be a pitiful martyr, or am too weak to fight back. Someone or something deeply hurt the person who hurt me, so I want to stop the cycle – one poke at a time.

Magically Invisible after Age 50

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After a certain age, women are ignored as if they don’t exist. We could tap dance through a crowded room wearing lighted clown noses with a tray of free martinis on our heads while singing an Italian opera, but no one would notice. Trust me, I’ve tried.

Sales clerks, young coworkers, and several relatives refuse to acknowledge us. After being ignored by waiters, we’re often tempted to march into the kitchen at a restaurant, dish up whatever is cooking on the stove, and bring it to our table. Then we could leave money on the table and tip ourselves before we left.

One time, my friend Nancy and I experienced a frustrating time trying to get the attention of a sales clerk as we patiently waited to return a purchase. We needed to exchange the bling-covered, thigh-high boots we bought in a moment of unbridled foolishness. There may have been alcohol involved.

“If this line takes any longer, I’ll have to chew these boots for my dinner,” Nancy said.

“I think the warranty just expired on my new tires,” I responded.

“Oh, look! I think the sales clerk just noticed us and gave a faint smile.”

Then a young tart with a plastic face and noisy bangles came skittering up on her six-inch heels, shoved her assets in front of us, and received immediate attention from the animated sales staff. After being ignored, we suddenly disregarded our childhood instructions to be people-pleasers. We began to channel their dormant inner sorcerer. We may have briefly levitated.

“We could curse her until she spontaneously bursts into flames,” I said.

“No, if we have that much power, let’s turn her older than we are,” snarled Nancy.

Nancy felt emboldened and moved closer to the counter. “You must be so much more important than I am,” she said. “My mama told me not to be pushy like you, so I’ll just continue to wait here looking at your imperfect backside.” She added a toothy smile, raised her eyebrows, and tilted her head ever so slightly.

The intruder felt the glare of angry eyes on the back of her well-styled hairdo and turned around. Sensing a pack of wild women who were hungry, breathing their last breath of tolerance, and in desperate need of a bathroom, she stammered an apology and slinked away before the sales clerk could call for security.

Nancy and I high-fived like silly school girls and pushed toward the counter. We managed to return the boots and have time to relax at a nearby restaurant. We were delighted when a handsome young waiter rushed over, obviously excited to greet us. Maybe we weren’t invisible or irrelevant, after all!

“You look just like my grandmother!” he gushed. “She died last year.”

We ordered and enjoyed two glasses of wine, tipped the waiter and patted him on the head like a good boy, and went shopping for bling-covered, thigh-high boots.

 

In Defense of Idaho Education

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Commencement Speaker, University of Idaho

I am a product of Idaho education – 12 years in the village of Wendell and four years at the University of Idaho, graduating with Phi Beta Kappa scholastic honors. I enjoyed a successful career working in several Idaho business, including KMVT-TV, Idaho Bank & Trust, and Boise Cascade before starting my own publishing business.

I majored in journalism at the U of I and revered the AP Style Book from the Associated Press. Unfortunately, the AP has become a cesspool of progressive bias, and this latest article by Keith Ridler has more manure than my father’s hog farm. The title is wrong, he cites right-wing sources without balance, and he manipulates the article to fit his false claim.

In the biased article, “Businesses: Idaho Education Politics are Hurting State,” only ONE actual business spokesperson responded to the AP inquiry, and the response did not criticize Idaho education. The quote comes from Micron Technology, a company that employs more than 6,000 people in Idaho. Apparently, they can read and write.

The article also states Idaho “has had one of the worst graduation rates in the nation.” That is not true.

Here are some key facts he ignored: New York State spends more than $27,000 per pupil. New York has a 78% high school graduation rate.

Idaho spends about $7,800 per student. With an 82% graduation rate, Idaho has a higher rate of high school graduation than New York. 

What does New York receive in return for spending almost $20,000 more per student than Idaho? The answer is: A lower graduation rate. Money isn’t the answer. We need a better educational system without the control of the National Education Association supported through biased articles from the media.

I encourage Idaho parents to become more involved in education and investigate the curriculum and books available at libraries in local schools. They might be tempted to obtain a book about homeschooling. 

To conclude, I’m proud to be a third-generation Idahoan, but I’m concerned about my grandchildren’s education. I hope their classes teach them the skills necessary to become a productive, successful adult. I also hope they learn how to decipher truth from fiction in the media.