Join a festive event on Friday, Nov. 21 at Olive & Vyne in Eagle. We’ll taste imported olive oils, sip wine, snack on delightful appetizers, and I’ll read from my book Midlife Cabernet. More details to come.
Blog
Yes, I Will Fly Again
Civilized people are shocked at the reports of the intentional murders of the passengers and crew of Malaysian Airlines Flight 17. What was gained from the evil attack? What admirable show of force was accomplished through causing the naked body of a dead women to fall through a peasant’s roof? Is this all part of an orchestrated, wicked plan to start the final world war?
I don’t have any answers to those questions, but I know this vile act by assassins will not prevent me from flying on airplanes. It’s also dangerous to drive during rush hour traffic in the city or next to a carload of zombies texting and/or drinking. If I want to go from one destination to the other, I know I’m not getting any younger and there is no time to waste. I’ll book a flight.
My most memorable flight was on Yeti Airlines, the “Premiere Airline of Nepal.” I have a photo that shows me praying before I get on the plane. Actually, I say a prayer every time I fly, and the prayer is that the landings equal the takeoffs. I was with a group of travelers flying from Kathmandu, Nepal to a safari in a tented camp. The pilot of the tiny airplane allowed us to come into the cockpit and take photographs of the Himalayas as we flew past. I’ll never forget the breathtaking sight.
I have rich and grand experiences of traveling in airplanes. My father owned a Bonanza four-seater so he could fly between his businesses in several western states. If the family came along, my job was to move the blocks from behind the wheels before we got in. The most important rule: Don’t walk near the turning propeller. I obeyed that rule. I recall one fateful afternoon when he flew the family to California and the extreme turbulence made all of us vomit. My mother used her purse as the barf bag. The last time my father flew solo, his appendix burst but he still managed to land the plane.
Writing feature articles for various magazines allowed me to experience some perilous flights. To report on a white water rafting expedition on the Salmon River, I was a passenger on the mail plane that landed on a mountain pasture the size of my back yard. The pilot blasted an air horn so the deer would get out of the way. For a story on the local Air Force squadron, I rode in a massive KC-135 and watched from the “bubble” as the tanker conducted an in-flight refueling mission at 30,000 feet. I could see the eyes of the pilot in the jet below us.
I’m flying again next week to attend the BlogHer conference in California. And, in November I’m looking forward to an overseas trip to Spain with my husband, daughter, and son-in-law. There are no guarantees in life, so we’ll take our chances. I’m grateful for the traveling opportunities and the extraordinary experiences that have enriched my life and allowed me to travel beyond my hometown of Wendell, Idaho. And if a future landing doesn’t equal the takeoff, I’ll be dead. But my spirit will be in a better place than the afterlife waiting for the murderers who shot down Flight 17.
The Joy of Cooking (Twice a Month)
Because I like to eat, I like to cook. But I’m older, wiser, and my children are grown, so I only touch a pan once or twice a week. And during the summer months when Studley grills outside, I can go an entire month without opening a single cookbook. That’s just another advantage of tumbling down the far side of fifty without a spatula.
When my children were small and I worked full-time, I would rush home and slap together a concoction that contained at least two of the four food groups. Chipped beef on toast was my gourmet specialty. To add fruit and a vegetable, I’d smear strawberry jam on celery. Now my kids bemoan the fact that after they grew up and moved away in search of healthy food, I quit my job and enrolled in cooking classes. If I want my grown children to come for a visit, I call and say I’m making curried prime rib or authentic chicken parmesan. They’re at the door before I turn off the phone.
Years ago I grabbed an apron and joined a cooking tour of Italy through an organization called A Cook’s Tour. The trip featured hands-on lessons with professional Italian chefs. Best of all, we ate our sumptuous meals outside on long tables under flowering trees in the orchard. Of course, the meals included abundant selections of wines. That’s where I fell in love with Amarone – not an Italian lover but a vibrant red wine that captured my breath and my heart.
At the cooking school, I learned to make ravioli and cappelletti (little hats) with chefs Antonia Montrucoli and Giulianna at the the Villa Serego Alighieri near Verona. The property was surrounded by vineyards, olive trees, and fruit orchards and has been in the family of the great Italian poet Dante Alighieri (Dante’s Inferno) since the year 1353. I truly considered losing my passport and staying there as an apprentice chef and troubadour.
There are two secrets to preparing magnificent Italian food: fresh local ingredients and time. Start with extra-virgin, first cold-pressed olive oil from the friendly neighbor. Then add juicy tomatoes, fresh basil, garlic, onions, and green and red peppers from the garden. Keep a selection of fine cheeses in the cooler and bowls of melons and lemons on the counter. Be sure to open some wine while you assemble the ingredients. I love cooking with wine, and sometimes I add it to the sauce.
As the red sauce (NOT spaghetti sauce) simmers and the flavors blend, you must wait for the magic to happen. This could take hours because you can’t rush an exquisite Italian sauce. This gives you time to sip wine, bake a loaf of crusty bread, and arrange olives and assorted cheeses on a platter. Then enjoy a festive meal with friends and celebrate buen appetito!
I cooked chicken parmesan this week, so I’m off duty for awhile. Studley and I eat salads during the week and add some protein. It’s just the two of us, so we keep it easy. It’s truly the joy of cooking made simple. And if I ever return to Italy, I’ll find the Villa Serego Allighieri and raise a glass of Amarone to pay my respects to Dante. His Inferno is part of his most famous work, Divine Comedy. The title sounds like the recipe for my life.
Midlife Cabernet: Kitty T-Shirt Causes Cat Fight
Skinny reality-TV starlet Bethenny Frankel recently posted a photo of herself wearing her 4-year-old daughter’s kitty pajamas. She looked cute. I wiggled into my 7-year-old granddaughter’s t-shirt from the same brand. I looked like a sweating stuffed sausage from a midlife horror movie. The scaredy cat stretched across my ample bosom yelped “Goodbye!” instead of “Hello.”
I almost coughed up a hairball reading about the cat fight that ensured on social media as women howled their outrage at Frankel. The fur started to fly when according to some, the anorexic actress was exploiting her little girl. Others meowed that she was forcing her child to compete with her. This wild cat of an inadequate parent was destroying the self-image of girls and fluffy kittens around the world.
Some allowed their claws to come out and ripped her to shreds on Twitter. They accused the tiny want-to-be actress of eating like a mouse and encouraging bulimia. I suspect that many of these cat-calls came from those with an excessive body mass index, so I stopped reading the comments and moved them to the litter box. Such unwarranted outrage left me scratching the couch. Get a life, already.
For more than thirty years of my adult life, I’ve witnessed the unnecessary vitriol exchanged between women. Before I fade away into the genderless old folk’s home, I’d like to see women celebrate each other instead of fighting like felines in heat. Really, it’s okay if a reality show star wants to wear her kid’s clothes. Those who are foaming at the mouth in disgust need to watch the news to learn from the legitimate reality shows about what really matters. Wars, famine, abuse, stupid politicians – these are all far worse than Bethenny Franklel wearing Hello Kitty slippers.
When I returned the t-shirt to my granddaughter, she asked to wear my old outfits for dress-up clothes. We were delighted as she pranced about in the discarded power dresses of my past life. And, to my knowledge, not one other 7-year-old criticized her for wearing my clothes. Perhaps there is hope for the younger generation.
Podcast: The Midlife Laughter Challenge
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.
My Guest Blog on The Writer Revived
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.
