Elaine Ambrose

Bestselling Author, Ventriloquist, & Humorist

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Memoir and Metaphor

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My memoir Frozen Dinners is in production and soon the proofs will be distributed for professional review. The publication date will be in a few months.

The book contains several original poems in a chapter titled “Potatoes and Poetry.” I wrote one titled “1964 Town Crier” as a student in a writing class at the University of Idaho. At the time, I didn’t know the poem would become the metaphor for a memoir I would finish almost 50 years later.

 

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 hairs

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.

 

 

 

 

When Ice and Men were Hanging Off My Roof

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(Last night I was one of the illustrious storytellers on stage at the Alpine Playhouse in McCall for the inaugural “Stage Flight” program sponsored by the McCall Arts & Humanities Council. The theme was “Cabin Fever,” and I told the true and slightly embellished rendition of a dark and stormy night home alone in McCall. Preview their website for details about upcoming theatrics.)

Dark, winter nights in McCall can cause a powerful level of extreme anxiety. Alone in the house, I hunkered down for the evening. The heavy snow had fallen for days, and a cold wind blowing over the lake plastered a thick layer of ice over the windows and doors. Even though I had been alone in the house for a few weeks, it was too cold for Cabin Fever!

Suddenly I heard a groaning, moaning sound that emanated from the walls – and it seemed as if the entire house was sagging under the weight of six feet of snow on the roof. I feared it could collapse at any moment.

I huddled beneath the huge support beam in the living room, determining that was the safest place to stay. For protection, I gathered blankets, flashlights, two boxes of Girl Scout cookies, two bottles of wine, an opener and glass, and a roll of toilet paper. That’s my favorite go-to survival kit.

The house continued to moan and groan, as if suffering under the weight and cold of a forlorn world. I opened a bottle of wine, and soon my fears subsided and I fell asleep.

A daybreak, I woke and scratched off a layer of ice from the inside of the window and peeked outside. The scene was out of the movie “Dr Zhivago” as total whiteness covered everything for as far as I could see. It could be compared to the scenes from Disney’s movie “Frozen.” I imagine a girl could be knocking on the door, singing “Do you want to build a snowman?” No. I don’t want to build snowman. Go away.

I couldn’t distinguish the lake from the land. I noticed the ceiling over the front door was bowing. I tried to open the door, but it was stuck. I was stranded in a snow tomb. I added a layer of sweatshirts and flannel pants and sat to ponder the situation. Would I live through the winter? Or would they find my cold body surrounded by empty cookie boxes and clutching two empty wine bottles? They would shake their heads and mutter, “Oh, poor Elaine. She was good for a few laughs. Too bad she died alone, miserable, and wearing such a ghastly outfit.”

The telephone still worked, so I called my list of workers who shoveled roofs. The recorded message said to leave my number and they would get back to me. I waited four hours, watching the snow fall and the ceiling bulge. I opened more wine.

Finally, a call came in the afternoon. Crews were coming from out of town to help shovel roofs. The cost would be $200, paid in advance, in cash. I considered changing my profession. But, I was helpless and desperate.

“Send them over,” I said.

I pawed through all my purses and then emptied my wine stash to come up with the cash. An hour later, they knocked on the door. I still couldn’t open the door, so I waved the cash from the window and the workers cleared enough snow from around the door and on the roof over the door so I could open it. We exchanged pleasantries, I gave them the money, and the crew of four bundled workers proceeded to haul ladders and shovels around the house. I noticed that a few of them smelled of alcohol and appeared to be impaired. But when snowed in during a winter in McCall, one can’t be too picky.

The snow stopped falling, and I sat in the living room listening to the sound of men stomping and shoveling on the roof. The television visual reception was poor but I turned on the TV to hear audio reports of the Olympic Games. I had to imagine how wonderful or horrible the performances were as the announcers read the numbers of the scores.

Suddenly, I heard a commotion and saw a shovel fall in front of the picture window and then a huge figure fell part-way and dangled in front of the window. Without being properly introduced, I was staring at the inglorious view of a man’s bare butt. One of the less than sober workers had slipped and fallen off the edge. His coat caught on a protruding beam and suspended him in air, but his heavy snow-covered pants continued to fall. Unfortunately, he never listened to his mother when she told him to wear clean underwear in case he got in an accident – or for this matter, he wasn’t wearing any underwear at all. I was relieved he wasn’t dangling the other way or I might have seen something else dangling – even though it would have been a small show due to the extreme cold.

Soon his buddies came to the rescue and unhooked his coat. He tumbled to the deck in a heap. Even through the heavy snow and solid walls, I could hear the colorful and creative language.

Daylight was fading and the snow returned. The workers loaded their gear and prepared to leave. One came to the door and said they had removed most of the snow and would return soon to finish the job. Then he apologized for the falling worker.

“That’s okay,” I said. “But please tell him he scored an 8 for performance but only a 2 for visual appeal. No gold medal for him!”

They fired up their noisy truck and drove away into the falling snow. I never saw the crew again.

Rebecca Havens and I were featured storytellers in McCall. We left ‘em laughing.

 

Here’s What I’m Doing Today about Gun Control

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I watched through tears as the videos showed students cowering under desks and running to the arms of their anguished parents. I’m done waiting for Congress to act to protect our children. In my opinion, members of Congress care about two things: voters and money. Republicans eagerly take donations from lobbyists, including the NRA, and hide behind the Second Amendment. Democrats refuse to compromise on the Dream Act because they want more voters.

Our school children aren’t important to politicians because they are too young to vote and don’t have money to donate to campaigns.

I own a gun and have a concealed weapon permit. My family’s guns are unloaded and locked in a gun safe. I support the Second Amendment to the US Constitution because it protects the rights of the people to keep and bear arms. However, our Founding Fathers only knew about single-shot guns that took time to reload. Today’s AR-15 can shoot more than 20 bullets in nine seconds and can be reloaded quickly.

According to this report, more than 5 million Americans own AR-15 assault rifles. I think that’s enough. I was raised in conservative Idaho and almost every family owned at least one gun. Students often had shotguns in their vehicles but no one owned a semi-automatic rifle and no one shot up the school and murdered people.

I advocate two courses of action: one is free and the other will cost money.

First, it costs nothing to send emails. Today I’m sending emails to local and online gun dealers and manufacturers asking them to stop the manufacture and sale of assault rifles for public consumption. Email addresses are easily found through an Internet search. I’m not suggesting they stop the sale of pistols, shotguns, ammunition, or sport shooting supplies.

I’m sending emails to online gun dealers such Cheaper Than Dirt! The company offers bargains on guns including semi-automatic rifles. You can have one for only $612, but the enhanced tactical version costs almost $2,500. That’s enough for a cheap casket. Deluxe versions sell for $8,000 – enough to pay for the entire funeral.

 

Spikes Tactical .308 Roadhouse AR308 Style Semi Auto Rifle .308 …

$2,489.43

 

 

Bushmaster QRC AR-15 Semi Auto Rifle 5.56 NATO 16″ Barrel 3….

I’m also sending email to dozens of US companies, including major gun dealers such as Smith & Wesson, Sturm Ruger, and Remington Arms. Sending emails is free, and I intend to do it regularly. I don’t have the power to change laws, but I can act as a gun owner and American who is concerned about the country and worried about our children.  I can’t get two boxes of Sudafed. How do mentally ill people get AR-15s?

Other options will cost money:

  • Buy existing semi-automatic rifles from stores and online dealers and turn them into products such as bridges and wheelchairs.
  • Offer a buy-back program for owners of assault rifles.
  • Pay for better counseling, treatment, and facilities for mental health patients.

The second paragraph of the first article in the Declaration of Independence as approved on July 4, 1776 included these important words:

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.

In my opinion, a student living through the day is guaranteed in our Constitution.

 

PS – I usually don’t write about murdered children. Check here for a delightful selection of my humorous books: Elaine Ambrose

 

 

 

 

Finding Focus and Fairies on a Pilgrimage to Ireland

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My Irish eyes are smiling. I’m returning to Ireland for 10 days in April to meet a group of women in Dublin and embark on an adventure through Wayfinding Women, an organization that provides empowering spiritual retreats for women seeking joy, authenticity, purpose, and adventure. Irish jigs and limericks will be included.

I’ll be leading a discussion about writing and will create prompts for journaling with an emphasis on, “Your Journey is Your Story.” Throughout the week, we’ll include time to write about our personal experiences as we distance ourselves from the clamor and chaos back home. One of our goals is to return refreshed and ready to use our talents to motivate positive results within ourselves, our families, and our communities.

Ann Hoffman-Ruffner, the creator of Wayfinding Women, has completed life coaching programs through Brene Brown and Martha Beck. She has thirty years’ experience in acute care psychiatry and is a community educator on mental health and suicide prevention. I know we’re going to be good friends because she also likes good food, wine, Irish folklore, and jazz.

There are no strangers here, only friends that have not yet met. — William Butler Yeats, distinguished Irish poet.

 

For the first half of the adventure, we’ll stay in a private castle in Tipperary, built in 1760. I intend to write a few tall tales in the castle. Then we’ll travel to whitewashed cottages located on a hidden sandy beach beside the sea. Activities include hiking, a boat ride beneath the Cliffs of Moher on a cruise to Aran Islands, and festive feasts with local cuisine. Back in Dublin on my own, I’ll find some museums and attend a jazz show at an  historic Dublin pub known as  Searson’s Bar.

God is good, but never dance in a small boat.  – Irish Proverb

 

During the week, Ann will introduce the group to local people who possess sacred ancient gifts and will share their incredible knowledge with the group. We’ll visit Glendalough and walk through one of the most ancient monastic cities remaining in Ireland. Our journey will take us to Neolithic passage tombs and the majesty of the Hill of Tara, seat for the high kings of Celtic Ireland.

Your feet will bring you where your heart is. – Irish Proverb

I visited Ireland 15 years ago and became enchanted with its beauty, mystery, music, and charm. This will be my first time in Dublin, and I might find traces of my distant relatives. All I know is that my most infamous kinfolk owned a tawdry pub next to the River Liffey. I find this easy to believe.

Also, I’m excited to return and search for that magical group of mischievous fairies that taunted me from behind the Hawthorn trees in the meadow. We have stories to finish.

May you live to be hundred years. With one extra year to repent! – Irish Blessing

 

 

The Water Chestnut Hoarder

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I’ve elevated the dubious label of compulsive hoarder to a new level above and beyond disheveled stacks of newspapers, precarious piles of unrecognizable clothes, and half-used tubes of anti-aging products that incorrectly promised to magically revitalize my skin’s youthful radiance and defy the aging process.

I collect cans of water chestnuts.

I love water chestnuts because they add a delightful crunch to tuna salad, chicken salad, green bean casserole, stir-fry meals, and stuffing. They’re also sinfully delicious wrapped in bacon and baked. As a health benefit, they are fat-free, (ignore the bacon grease), have low sodium, and there are only 14 calories in four water chestnuts. They do have significant amounts of potassium and carbohydrates, but it’s not like eating an entire banana cream pie. Save that for later.

So, what’s the problem? There are impossible to find in the grocery store. My cart automatically rolls to the aisles for wine, cookies, and other health foods, but the illusive chestnuts hide whenever I need them.

One evening before a holiday feast, I was frantically rummaging in the grocery store trying to find the last item on my list: water chestnuts. I had no luck in the canned vegetable aisles, in the produce section, or in the seasonal food display. I was confident they weren’t in the dairy or frozen food aisles, but looked anyway.

Desperate, I stood in the middle of the main aisle and shouted in my loudest outside voice, “Where are the water chestnuts?”

People froze. The jolly music stopped. A child cried and clung to her mother. I didn’t care.

A tired man appeared wearing a name tag that read, “Hi! I’m Todd. Can I help you?”

“Todd,” I exclaimed, grabbing his lapels, “I need water chestnuts. Now!”

Todd stepped back, smoothed his jacket, and nodded for me to follow him. Like a beacon of hope leading the lost and forlorn to the promised land, he maneuvered through the weary shoppers to a shelf containing cans of water chestnuts. They mocked me with their obvious placement in the oriental food section.

With profound gratitude and wild abandon, I scooped every can into my cart. I wasn’t concerned if anyone else wanted some. Todd disappeared, muttering to himself, and I ran the gauntlet to the checkout stand.

“Well, someone likes water chestnuts,” the young checker chirped as she counted two dozen cans. My twitching eye warned her to avoid further comments. I started to relax after arriving home and stacking all the cans into the pantry.

During the following weeks, I purchased several cases of water chestnuts. I often tiptoed into the pantry to see, touch, and count the precious little prizes. After opening and consuming the delightful morsels, I saved the empty cans because someday they could be valuable. I stored them beside my vintage coffee can collection.

Love Potions and Dental Floss

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The National Retail Federation predicts more than $20 billion will be spent this year on Valentine’s Day gifts that include jewelry, flowers, candy, and greeting cards. However, many middle-aged couples ignore the hype and prefer a nice dinner with fine wine, a slow dance on the patio, and a tender look that says:

“I WILL LOVE YOU FOREVER. HAVE YOU SEEN MY DENTAL FLOSS?”

The Valentine’s Day edition of a popular women’s magazine recently offered some provocative advice about how to drive a man crazy by using naughty tricks that involved handcuffs and blindfolds. At midlife, most of us don’t have time or money to waste so we’d rather dim the lights, turn on some Luther Vandross, and holler “Come and get it!” before it’s time for the evening news and some salve on our aching backs.

The passing years have provided us the wisdom to know that if we donned a skimpy outfit smaller than a hanky and then wore a blindfold we would trip over our wobbly stilettos and smack our head on the nightstand. And if we lit 50 candles and then agreed to handcuffs we’d knock over the candles, start the house on fire, and not be able to find the key to the cuffs. Our friendly firemen would be greatly amused and publish our hapless photographs in a local magazine.

Most middle-aged women are strong advocates for romance but we want and need it more than once a year. We prefer daily acts of devotion that can build a lasting love affair. My sweetheart makes my coffee every morning and brings me the newspaper. (Yes, a morning newspaper proves just how old we are.) He laughs at my jokes even though he’s heard them before and they’re really not that funny. And, he kisses me every night and morning. We touch in our sleep, and that is the essence of pure love.

TRUE ROMANCE  FOR MIDDLE-AGED COUPLES OFTEN REQUIRES A SENSE OF HUMOR.

I don’t mind trying new amorous adventures, but they often come with humorous and unromantic results. The kitchen table was way too hard, the secluded outside picnic came with ants and stickers, and the tight corset took 30 minutes to remove. Once I arranged for a limousine stocked with Scotch and hot wings to pick up my hubby from the airport, but the limo was late and he stood outside in the freezing cold for twenty minutes. Another time I applied some sensuous massage oil but ended up spilling the entire bottle and ruining our best sheets. It took him two hot showers to degrease.

BUT, I’M NOT GIVING UP ON PASSION BECAUSE IT’S JUST TOO MUCH FUN.

Millions of people over 50 enjoy loving relationships, and they now comprise the biggest group in online dating. According to the Mayo Foundation for Medical Education and Research, sexual health is important at any age, and doctors agree that older couples who enjoy sexual intimacy can lower their blood pressure, reduce the risks of heart attacks, and look years younger. According to my close female friends, a festive romp in the hay is a grand way to end the day, and there is no medical study required for that astute observation.

As millions of American women grow closer to age 60, we no longer relate to the role models of yesterday. We reject the weathered images of the late Irene Ryan who was only 63 when she played the role of Granny Clampett in the television series Beverly Hillbillies and prefer the strong image of 65-year-old movie star Meryl Streep. We love the feisty spirits of sexy senior citizens Betty White and Tina Turner. Television legend Joan Collins is 81 years young. At a recent pre-Grammy party in Beverly Hills she said that sex was better than Botox for slowing the aging process. In response, many of the glamorous guests weren’t able to raise their eyebrows with surprise.

This year, forget the potions, purchases, and promises for the perfect Valentine’s Day. Be grateful for daily gestures of love and let him know in advance that you’d rather have a nice bottle of wine and a back rub than a 4-foot Vermont teddy bear. Really. Those things are scary.