Elaine Ambrose

Bestselling Author, Ventriloquist, & Humorist

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Midlife Cabernet – When Golf is a Communist Plot

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This week Studley and I played in the foursome that won first place in a golf scramble. We won even though I was the worst golfer on the team and I don’t practice or excel as much as the good players but through the handicap rules we redistributed the wealth of our collective talents to serve the greater good. Other teams with better players were prevented from winning because they didn’t have a bad player. Karl Marx, the socialist philosopher who advocated communism, would be proud. Maybe he wouldn’t have been so grouchy if he had played golf.

The fallacy with the redistribution philosophy is that the best golfers play in scrambles to practice and to have fun. They also compete as individuals in tournaments where they have the potential and opportunity to earn millions of dollars because of their skills. They pay government income taxes on these earnings which are then used to fund education, build roads, and pay into a Social Security program that gives money to those who don’t work or golf as well. They also donate to charity and sponsor community events, which Marx never did. The winning golfers get to keep about half of their earned money. And, they deserve it.

The best golfers, like other successful entrepreneurs, have unique tenacity, talent, intelligence, and risk-taking ability to create and sustain their enterprises. They play by the rules that reward achievement, and they don’t expect free mulligans or trophies for everyone. If the current trend toward political correctness changes the game and decrees that all golfers will play par for the course, most of us will stay in the club house and drink gin and tonic cocktails.

One last comment before I go back to the golf course: Karl Marx, the avowed socialist who wanted a classless society and condemned capitalism, received his income from Friedrich Engels, a rich industrialist who paid Marx from the profits of his capitalistic factories. Comrade Marx was a fraud.

Today’s blog was inspired by a 2008 Snake River Valley Cabernet Sauvignon grown, produced and bottled locally by a capitalist company, Fraser Vineyard. I eagerly exchanged $24 for the bottle, and both consumer and seller are happy.

Midlife Cabernet – Arousing 50 Shades of Grey Matter

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The owner of a hotel in England recently replaced guest copies of the Holy Bible, the world’s bestselling book, with 50 Shades of Grey, the new soft-porn bestseller than inspires horny women to imagine torrid but poorly written fantasies. While I endorse creative marketing strategies and applaud freedom of physical expression, I can only assume that the hotel management also will provide discrete, brown wrappers for the family guests and disposable, battery-operated toys for those flying solo.

Because I can’t stop myself from noticing the epoch and conspicuous differences between the two books, I’ve noted an excerpt from each:

“As the apple tree among the trees of the wood, so is my beloved among men. I sat down under his shadow with great delight, and his fruit was sweet to my taste….Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth, for (his) love is more delightful than wine.”
— “Song of Solomon,” Old Testament, written 3,000 years ago

“I found some baby oil. Let me rub it on your behind.”
— 50 Shades of Grey, current bestselling novel

I don’t want to debate religion (thank God.) I’m merely questioning the literary value of certain bestselling books. It doesn’t take much imagination to slither into Anastasia Steele’s sticky bedroom where she exclaims with amazement, “I don’t remember reading about nipple clamps in the Bible!” But, it takes thought and reflection to get lost in Bel Canto by Ann Patchett (a personal favorite) or to feel the heartache described in The Help by Kathryn Stockett or to appreciate the wit of Olive Ann Burns in Cold Sassy Tree. Maybe it’s all a matter of balancing excellence with trash, much like enjoying the occasional corn dog at the Fair. But, it’s also important to use or lose the delicate sensory perception abilities that come from our brains to arouse the grey matter between our ears instead of between the sheets.

Ironically, there is a subtle connection with 50 Shades of Grey and A Tale of Two Cities – the all-time bestselling novel ever written. Biographers of the author Charles Dickens wrote that he believed that prolific sexual activity was necessary for a healthy man. The sub-plot for his great novel centers on the sexual exploitation of a young, powerless girl by an older, powerful man. Sounds like the prelude to 50 Shades…

There is no wine review this week because I’m on the exercise wagon driven by my super-healthy daughter. So, we’ll end with the opening lines from A Tale of Two Cities (notably appropriate for our current times.)

“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to heaven, we were all going direct the other way – in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only.”
— Charles Dickens
English Novelist (1812-1870)

Midlife Cabernet – Going for the Gold

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At my age, getting out of bed each morning should be an Olympic event worthy of a gold medal. I can hear the breathless announcers:

“She’s got one foot out, Bob. Will she be able to move the other one in the next five minutes?”

“Look, Brian. Now both feet are on the floor. The form is a bit wobbly but she stuck the landing!”

The crowd goes wild. I hobble to the podium in my well-worn nightgown, my hair is disheveled, and I squint without my glasses. I bend to receive the medal but I need help getting up again. My back aches, my neck is stiff, and one leg has a cramp, but I’m still standing. A single tear rolls from my eye but catches in a wrinkle. Yes, I did it! Now, what’s for breakfast?

I’ve enjoyed watching the Olympics and am amazed at the physical and mental strength of the athletes. I wish I had a fraction of their discipline. And, as the late comedienne George Burns once said, if I knew I would live this long I would have taken better care of myself.

If you are what you eat, I’m a gigantic chocolate chip cookie floating in a vat of red wine. But now I have a new zeal to live long enough to irritate my future great-grandchildren. I’m in an intense exercise program with the goal of jogging in the St. Luke’s Women’s Fitness Celebration in September. At this point, there’s a 50-50 chance I’ll make it to the starting line and then take a detour to the scone booth.

The course is called Body Back Boise and it’s designed for women who want to get back in shape after having a baby. My youngest (Baby #2) is 31 years old, so I’ve decided it’s about time. The instructor is a lean, charming woman (Baby #1) who inspires a group of six women to sweat until we crumple like empty candy bar wrappers. She met us at a grocery store and taught us to shop on the outside of the aisles – that’s where the fresh, organic produce, dairy products and lean meats are displayed. Now I’m afraid to go near the rows of packaged, processed foods because some bell will ring, lights will flash, and I’ll be disqualified from class.

It’s still amazing to return from the store with kale and cucumbers instead of cake and candy. I’m trying to cook and eat healthier, and I even made a dinner with quinoa – an organic, high-protein grain – sautéed with fresh vegetables and herbs. Studley added a cube of butter, some Cajun spice, and a pork chop and said it was delicious. In the true test of discipline, I’ve limited the amount of red wine that I enjoy. Note the word “limited” as opposed to “eliminated.” Not even world-class athletes are perfect in everything!

Today’s blog is fueled by ONE GLASS – yes, one glass – of 2007 Francis Ford Coppola Director’s Cabernet Sauvignon from Sonoma County. It’s lush and fruity with a hint of berries and spice. And, it pairs nicely with a grilled steak and fresh salad. Some warm pecan pie with ice cream would be a nice touch, but I think my fitness instructor installed secret cameras in my house…

Midlife Cabernet – College, Careers, and Colonoscopies

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A delayed flight has me stranded in the Spokane airport so I’m sampling a flight of red wine at the Vintage Washington wine bar. So far, the Townshend blend is winning over the Indian Wells Cabernet or the Canoe Ridge Merlot, but the night is young and I have two more hours to wait. The Cab could easily pull out a win, so I will continue my dedicated research. (Hint to travelers: A flight of three choices is less expensive than two glasses.)

I’m coming home after a splendid time laughing and storytelling with sorority sisters. We met as college freshman at the University of Idaho more than forty years ago, and we were the first generation of career women. Our mothers didn’t work outside the home, and we had few role models for working women so we pulled up our big girl pants and figured out what to do. Now, at the end of our careers, we can relax and turn to other important issues, such as Cabernet and Colonoscopies.

Interesting facts: All six of us graduated from the University, three earned master’s degrees, and one has a Ph.D. One is a Vice Chancellor at the University of Tennessee, one is the Dean of the College of Letters and Social Sciences at the U of I, and one is a nationally published author. The other three are college instructors and retired teachers. We have 12 children – all gainfully employed – and not one wears a dog collar or has been in jail. We all have daughters and our main advice to them was: Be able to support yourself.

We worked when there were few childcare options, and we survived on five hours of sleep a night. After a day’s work, we fed and bathed our children, read them stories, tucked them into bed, and then we did white laundry on Monday, dark laundry on Tuesday, sheets and towels on Wednesday, and bought groceries on Thursday. We juggled piano lessons, Little League, and teacher conferences without a cell phone or computer. We paved the way as mentors for younger women who often didn’t appreciate the jungle we cleared so they could waltz through.

We have shared weddings, pregnancies, and the death of parents. Four of us have been married more than 30 years to the original husband, and two of us have been divorced and remarried. Four of us have grandkids and we’re positively giddy than we’ll have four in kindergarten in the fall. We’re already planning their future marriages to each other. The six of us have different political and religious beliefs, but that’s secondary to our main truth: We are true friends.

During the past three days, we have laughed ourselves silly while consuming copious quantities of Cabernet and platters piled with decadent desserts. We reflect on our lives, share our stories, and commiserate about health issues. Yes, we will endure those horrible colonoscopies and mammograms because we want to live long enough to enjoy more parties. We intend to march boldly into old age and tell any detractors to kiss our attitudes. And, we’ll never forget the day we rushed into the Delta Gamma sorority in Moscow and loudly proclaimed, “We are sisters.”

Today’s blog is sponsored by the red flight of wine at the Vintage Washington wine bar in the Spokane airport. Only $14 for the wine and $12 for the cheese plate. That’s the perfect way to end a splendid function with forty-year friends.

Midlife Cabernet – The Dilemma of Dry Balls

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My mother’s idea of creative cooking was to heat together two different cans of Campbell Soup – such as Chicken Noodle and Beef Barley – and then top it with a cup of oyster crackers. Voila! A gourmet meal down on the farm! With respect for my mom, she also could prepare an evening banquet of two dozen fried pork chops, a mixing bowl of mashed potatoes, a vat of green beans with bacon, a platter of buttered corn on the cob, and a pan of warm apple cobbler with ice cream. Anticipating what would appear on the family table became a guessing game of feast or famine, which helps explain my lifelong battle with weight.

Over the decades, I’ve gained and lost the weight of a Buick. Or two, depending upon the make and model. Every few years I try the latest fad – lost a ton with Atkins and gained it all back in four hours, joined Weight Watchers and developed anxiety attacks because of the weigh-ins, attempted Zumba and broke my foot just before my son’s wedding, and I even tried using smaller plates but those salad plates still can hold six brownies. Sigh.

When I reached middle age, I finally acknowledged that I like to eat and probably would do so for the rest of my life. So, I decided to learn how to cook. A few years ago I attended a week-long cooking school in Tuscany, Italy, the ultimate place for good eating (and drinking, but that’s another story.) There I learned how to make delicious sauces, exquisite pasta dishes, and chicken parmesan so magnificent that it becomes a religious experience. Italians know how to cook – and eat. The mangiar bene – good meal – takes all day to prepare but is worth its weight in wine bottles. And, those wonderful Italians keep healthy because they walk everywhere, don’t sit around watching TV, and enjoy the sex lives of rabbits in heat.

I only fix a big meal a few times a month, and the rest of the time Studley and I try to eat small, healthy meals. I recently joined an exercise program called Body Back Boise, taught by my super-athletic daughter. The routine involves high-impact workouts that leave me gasping for air and crawling toward the exit door begging for mercy. Meal plans also are included, so last night I tried a “faux” Italian meal of lean turkey and spinach meatballs with whole wheat pasta. Let’s just say that Studley choked down the meal and then said, lovingly of course, “I don’t like dry balls.” And, no, he shouldn’t.

I admit that the meal was a disaster, but here is the dilemma: I lost a pound. So, maybe it’s ok to ruin a fine Italian meal once in awhile for the sake of the main goal – I want to lose enough weight so I can prepare a gourmet meal and truly enjoy it. And, there won’t be any soup cans involved. Buon appetito!

Today’s blog is fueled by a 2008 Menopause Merlot by Bitner Vineyards in Caldwell. It’s about $30 a bottle and helps tame those pesky hot flashes because if you drink enough, you’ll forget all about them. Enjoy it with a real Italian meal – no dry balls allowed!

Midlife Cabernet – No, You Can’t Live Rent-Free in my Head Anymore

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I’m often asked to give keynote speeches to various groups because I have a gift for bullshit and I can use finger puppets to make even the crabbiest person laugh for a few minutes. Every public speaker has inevitable worries: Will they laugh at my jokes? Do they understand three-syllable words? Am I going to have explosive diarrhea?

My biggest fear is not knowing who will be in the audience. Will it be that pesky groupie who always asks me how to get published – right now! Will it be Cousin Timothy who will tell me I’m going to hell if I don’t change my ways? Or will it be THAT PERSON – the one who stabbed me in the back, kicked me in the gut, and pushed me off the corporate ladder more than twenty years ago. Yeah, I’m still hurt. And bitter. And wimpy enough to admit it.

This week I was the keynote speaker at a prestigious event in Twin Falls. I got to the podium, looked out, and saw THAT PERSON. Normally, I would avoid looking in that area and increase the intensity of my presentation. This time, however, something changed and I no longer felt the need to fantasize that a giant, flying, prehistoric pterosaur would suddenly swoop into the room, snatch THAT PERSON, and fly away to feed hungry babies. No, it’s been two decades, and I’m finally over it. I made eye contact, smiled, and gave a stellar performance.

Call if maturity or common sense, but I know it’s useless to carry a grudge. Especially for twenty years. Letting go is liberating because why should I allow someone else to live rent-free in my head? Certain images of revenge against THAT PERSON do make for delicious short stories, which I have written and published, but the pain isn’t as raw anymore because the wound is healed. I now can move on to satirize other irritating people. Besides, my life is abundant and THAT PERSON looks sad and worn. Sweet.

Today’s blog is fueled by a 2008 Zenato Ripassa Valpolicella from Italy. It’s about $30 a bottle and the bold, rich flavor will make you forget your enemies, love the entire world, and ask for another.