Elaine Ambrose

Bestselling Author, Ventriloquist, & Humorist

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Two Shades of Grey

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fat cupid

The owner of a hotel in England recently replaced guest copies of the Holy Bible, the world’s bestselling book, with Fifty Shades of Grey, the 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 assume that the hotel management will also provide locked safes for families with children, and disposable, battery-operated toys for those flying solo.

Because I can’t stop myself from noticing the profound 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 more than 3,000 years ago

“I found some baby oil. Let me rub it on your behind.”
—Fifty 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, reflection, and reading ability 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 county fair. But it’s also important to use or lose the delicate sensory perception abilities that come from our brains to arouse the gray matter between our ears instead of between the sheets.

The movie adaptation of Fifty Shades of Grey premieres on Valentine’s Day, but I won’t be attending or investing in supplies of rope, paddles, or whips. The only kinky habits I enjoy are to romp with my sweetheart and cool down with warm pie and ice cream washed down with a bold Cabernet. No bondage or spanking sessions are required, and we’re completely satisfied.

I prefer my version of passion over age fifty to be titled Two Shades of Grey. The first requirement during intimate encounters would require all lights to be dim, and the second option would be lights out and only then the flannel jammies come off. The only risque activity would be if we both wore blindfolds; not for naughty pleasure but to protect our eyesight from loose but lovable skin.

I guess we should be grateful that the book is encouraging some women to read. Maybe they’ll transition to other options to discover passion and drama in more literary choices. Nothing screams “Take me now!” like the vision of a loving couple reading good books together in bed.

There is a subtle connection with Fifty 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 erotic exploitation of a young, powerless girl by an older, powerful man. Ironically, that plot sounds similar to the story in Fifty Shades. Maybe it’s a literary masterpiece after all.

Don’t Fart During an MRI

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I share this true but pathetic story to commiserate with other tortured souls who relentlessly endure and survive extreme humiliation. We’re a group of accident-prone fools who regularly trigger embarrassing situations that would permanently traumatize a normal person. My experience this week will be difficult to surpass: I farted inside an MRI machine.

In medical terms, I had torn the meniscus cartilage that acts as a shock absorber between my shinbone and thighbone. In middle-age woman terms, two demons from hell invaded my body and lit fires in my knee and then danced around poking the raw nerves with electric forks. The pain was beyond intense, and the accident severely damaged my body so I couldn’t stand, walk, or even crawl to the wine bar.

Five drug-induced days later, I finally saw an orthopedic surgeon. He manipulated my knee until tears streamed down my cheeks and I threatened to tear off his arms. It should have been obvious that I was injured by the way I was ripping off chunks from the sides of the examination table. I silently vowed to add him as a nasty character in my next short story. Finally, some lovely angel gave me legal narcotics. Soon my ravaged leg was a big, bandaged joke, and I laughed and laughed.

A few days later I experienced the MRI – a magnetic resonance imaging procedure that uses a magnetic field and pulses of radio waves to make images of damaged ligaments and joints. A handsome young technician helped me into the tube of terror and strapped down my leg. I nervously remarked that a first name usually was required before I allowed anyone to tie me in a bed. He didn’t laugh but ordered me to hold still for 45 minutes. So there I was, in pain, suffering from claustrophobia, moving on a conveyor belt into the white torture chamber, and I didn’t have a clue how to remain motionless. And, to complete the distress, my only audience wasn’t amused by my jokes.

After about 20 minutes, I started to get anxious. I was tied down in a tunnel and could only hear strange beeping noises and grinding sounds. For all I knew, they were deciding which body parts to extract and sell on the black market. Then a queasy feeling predicted a pending passing of gas. I bit my tongue, pinched my side, and tried to focus on a pastoral scene in a green meadow beside a babbling brook. I could hear my mother’s advice: “Squeeze the dime.” I fidgeted.

“Please hold still,” came a voice from outside the shaft of shame.

I watched as the lights and numbers revealed how much time remained. Three minutes. I could do it! No! My body betrayed me at the one-minute mark. I was trapped and helpless so my nervous body did what it does best: it farted. I released gas with the intensity and conviction of a team of sumo wrestlers after a chili-eating contest. And the confined space caused the sound to be amplified as if a dozen foghorns had simultaneously activated. I didn’t know whether to cry, giggle, or call my son and brag.

“Well now, I think we have enough images,” the handsome technician said, suppressing a laugh.

The magic bed moved backwards into freedom, bringing along the putrid stench of decay. I was mortified as my imaginary meadow became a ravaged pasture full of rotting manure. What in the hell had I eaten? I avoided eye contact with the timid technician and hobbled back to the dressing room. Once again, I accepted my fate of being the perpetual, reluctant clown, the oddball, the one who farts during a complicated medical procedure.

If I ever need another MRI, I’ll request a facility in Texas. Everyone farts there.

Five Fun and (Almost) Free Things to Do

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elaine 2013 (114)

 

It’s already the second week of January. How are those resolutions working for you?  I made it three days without chocolate, so I’m golden for the rest of the month.

If you’re still in the “New Year, New You” mood, here are some hints for five fun, inexpensive activities to do that will improve your life. Try at least two of them before the end of the year.

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  1. Avoid negative people. You’ll never change them, so why be around them? They will suck out every ounce of energy you have and leave you a depleted shell of wasted humanity. This rule could be awkward if the offensive person is a relative, client, or neighbor, so just reduce the time you spend with them. Delete irritating, bloviating, and whining friends from your social media accounts. This experience is delightful, liberating, and perfectly legal.

mirabel flowers

2. Plant flowers in the spring with a child. Grab a cute kid – grandchildren are perfect for this project – and take them to select some flowers, haul everything into your yard, get dirty, make a mess, laugh, and plant some petunias. If you don’t have a yard, use some inexpensive pots and potting soil in your home or plant flowers at a nearby nursing home. Invite the sweetie pie over for tea parties throughout the summer so you can watch the flowers bloom and grow forever. Hum “Edelweiss,” if necessary.

 

elaine 2013 (113)

3. Explore other times and places that spark your imagination. You won’t need to find your lost passport or endure airport security lines if you find a comfortable chair and a good book. Look through your collection, browse your local bookstore, or schedule a few hours at the public library. I recommend Bel Canto by Ann Patchett, Wild by Cheryl Strayed, Cold Sassy Tree by Olive Ann Burns, and All the Light You Cannot See by my friend Anthony Doerr.

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  1. Blow bubbles. Watching kids giggle while they blow bubbles is better than any entertainment on television. Bottles are inexpensive from craft stores or you can make your own solution by gently mixing ½ cup water, ½ cup dish soap, and 2 teaspoons of sugar. You’ll need to keep the wands from empty bottles, and it’s best to do this activity outside. It’s okay if you secretly do this by yourself.

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  1. Sit still and observe nature. Free: walk to a city park and sit on a bench. Some cost: drive to a nature center or the nearest scenic place. I prefer the mountains. More cost: add a bottle of wine and bring along a good friend/designated driver. Repeat these scenarios as often as possible.

These activities don’t cost much money and you don’t need to download, upload, or charge anything. The only batteries required are in your car. Simple pleasures are usually the best. Have a splendid year.

 

 

 

 

 

The Sad Mother’s Ring

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leona mother's ring

After the funeral, the mortician handed me a small velvet pouch that contained my mother’s jewelry: her favorite poinsettia earrings, an pearl necklace, and two rings. The first ring was a wedding ring my father gave her after she lost the original while working on the potato harvester. The second ring was a Mother’s Ring she wore for 50 years. She often fingered it with tears in her eyes.

My brothers and I gave her the ring decades ago when we young, all lived at home, and still spoke to each other. Our mutual estrangement as adults caused my mother immense pain during the last 15 years of her life. I still have trouble breathing when I remember the lawsuits after my father died, the loud fights, and the sight of my mother crying on the witness stand in court. The judge ruled in her favor, but the damage was done. Our family was shattered beyond repair.

I haven’t seen or spoken to my older brother in 18 years. He’s never met my husband or my grandchildren. He never visited his mother after losing the lawsuit, and he didn’t attend her funeral. January, the first birthstone in the Mother’s Ring, is a cold month.

The velvet pouch sat on the buffet table in my kitchen for two months and remained there when 24 people came over for Christmas Eve dinner. No one moved it; not even the children. The bag held the last personal belongings of our mother, grandmother, and great-grandmother, and it seems almost irreverent to examine the only tangible things of value that remained after 87 years of life.

My husband and I finally opened the velvet bag and placed the rings in a container of jewelry cleaner. We left the necklace and earrings inside, tied the pouch, and placed it in the donation box. I hope someone will be pleased to wear the items.

The two rings have been professionally cleaned and are stored in jewelry boxes. I’m saving her wedding ring for my daughter and her daughter. As for the Mother’s Ring, I hope to meet a woman who had babies in January, September, and October, and I’ll give it to her. This ring deserves and needs to be celebrated.

To My Son as He Leaves for College

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(For those with quiet empty nests, here’s a letter I wrote to my son years ago.)

What do you mean you mailed a college application? Get back down on the floor and play with some Legos. Do you want me to make you a sandwich? Or, you can invite your friends over and we’ll order pizzas. You can stay up all night, if you want. I’ll just go cry in my room, but don’t let that bother you.

Yes, I know I can be obnoxious about mothering you, but don’t leave yet. I’m not done. We need to work on laundry and managing money. And we should have the talk – you know, the discussion about sex, drugs, alcohol, and how the world is full of mean people who could hurt you. Oh, you say you can handle everything? Then tell me, son, how do I handle this anxiety? How do I stop this gut-churning ache when I realize my only son, my last child, is walking out the door and will return as a visitor? Give me some laughs for that fact, will you?

Okay, I’m sorry for that lapse in composure. I’m really happy for you. Really. I want you to march into college and own the place. Let them know you have arrived and you’re ready to pursue enlightenment and knowledge so you can get a great job and support me in my old age. Oops. There I go again. It’s not about me, is it? This is about you. I must focus.

Because I’m a single parent and the two of us have shared this house for several years, I want to give you my best parenting advice before you drive off to the university. So, here goes:

  1. Size matters. You already know this. Weighing in at 11 pounds, you were one of the biggest babies every born at the Gooding County Hospital. You were always the tallest, which made it easy to find you in a crowd of other children. You were sad at age 4 when He-Man underwear didn’t come in your size, and the teachers had to order an adult-sized desk for you in 5th You were 6’6” in high school, and you carried the load for others, as you continue to do today. Sometimes you didn’t like being so big, but many people, including me, see you now as a tall, strong, funny, handsome, and responsible hero. That’s a good thing.
  2. Keep your sense of humor. No one can make me laugh like you do. Your personality is beyond gregarious and that’s why others enjoy being around you. I’ve seen you cheer up a dejected classmate, counsel a young child, coach and encourage a YMCA team, and cause your grandmother to grin. (Dementia made her grin all the time, but you brought a special twinkle to her eyes.)
  3. Stay compassionate. As a two-year-old, you took care of other children at the child-care center. That special trait continued into your teenage years. Several others took advantage of you, and I know you used your wages to pay for a lot of meals, trips, and activities that other kids couldn’t afford. Keep that empathetic characteristic, but watch out for charlatans who will exploit your generosity. Learn from me.
  4. Treat women as wonderful, complicated creatures who can make your life a living hell or a heavenly sanctuary. You will live in a fraternity and there will be raucous parties with coeds. Have fun, but keep your head clear and your pants zipped. Other college men won’t heed that advice, and their new nickname will be “father” or “college drop-out.” The woman you choose to marry will be lucky, indeed. Remember to compliment her, support her dreams, and be delighted in your partnership with her as you build dreams together. Plan great adventures and expect a successful marriage. And, if she ever asks, “How do I look?” always respond, “Wow! You look amazing?” Trust me.
  5. Remember your roots. You were born into a family with a strong work ethic, a love of adventure, and an unwavering love for their children. I’m sorry your father and I lost the marriage, but we continued to make your sister and you our top priority. Take this experience to do better than we did.
  6. Get ready to fly. The next five years will be the most important years of your life. You will go to college, get a job, perhaps get married, and maybe you’ll have children. Life will never be the same again. Take this time to savor every drop of life you can. Meet new people, visit new destinations, make some mistakes, and recover with gusto. But, please, know that if you move far away I know how to make airplane reservations. I’d like a guest room with teal-colored paint on the walls, a coffee maker, and a wine bar.

I think that’s the essential tidbits for now. You’ve got a job so you know about money. As for laundry, just wear all dark clothes so you don’t need to separate the loads. But, always wash your towels at least weekly. I might need to throw a few wet towels on the floor after you’re gone just for the memories.

Go to college, son, and remember that life can’t be one big party unless someone pays the bills and provides the clean-up committee. Be the one in charge of your own celebration of young adulthood. I’ll miss you every day, but soon I can visit you on campus. I’ll bring your favorite cookies! And a pizza. It will be just like old times.

Most of all, I will miss your laugh, so please record it for me. Remember, your first laugh was with me when you were four months old. It could have been caused by gas bubbles, but oh my, how you could laugh! Please don’t ever stop. One more thing: I’ll leave the light on for you.

Love,

Mama (all alone in a big, quiet, empty house)