Elaine Ambrose

Bestselling Author, Ventriloquist, & Humorist

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The Couches of My Life

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1978 emily chest

My parents owned one good set of furniture that lasted 40 years. After the first 20 years, my father had the couches recovered with leather so they would last longer. I didn’t have that same attachment to any sofa, and I’ve lost count of the good, bad, and ugly selections that have entered and departed my living room.

As with most newlyweds, my husband and I didn’t have extra money. We found an inexpensive fuzzy, green striped couch with a matching love seat at a big warehouse and brought them home in a borrowed pickup truck. We moved those bulky pieces several times over15 years, and the fabric endured multiple assaults from busy, messy children. (That sleepy baby in the photo now is married and has kids and couches of her own.)

1995 family room

When my two children were 10 and 12, I decorated the room with colorful furniture. I loved my custom-ordered, teal-green leather couch, and sadly learned years later that no one liked it. We eventually gave it away to a young couple who covered it with a blanket. Now, I cringe when I see those boring white walls that practically beg for paint or wallpaper and a creative spattering of art.

1998 living room hickories

After my first child left for college, I went into my pristine, virginal white stage. Misguided by a young and eager interior decorator, I installed white wool carpet and christened the living room with elegant white furniture. No one would step into the room because it was too immaculate, and I finally sold the couch and table on consignment and gave away the chair. I lost the fabulous tapestry in a divorce.

living room

My current couch is ten years old, and I moved it four times before finding my forever home. I’ve mixed sturdy leather furniture and wooden lamps and iron mirrors with colorful patterns in my favorite colors of red and gold beneath a tapestry of Portofino, Italy. There is a sanctuary corner on the left with a hand-carved statue of St. Christopher, the patron saint of travel. I bought it in Bolzano, Italy when I was there during the tragic events of September 11, 2001 and couldn’t fly home. This room is safe for playing grandkids and elegant enough for adult soirees.

As I look at the couches of my life, I’m reminded of the significant events that occurred while I was busy setting up a home, working full-time, and raising children. Those scruffy early pieces were good enough for my babies. The teal monstrosity made me happy. The white mistakes were my reaction to divorced life and an attempt to make everything perfect again. And, my current leather couch symbolizes the comfort and stability of my present home. I’m grateful that I have a house with furniture, and I support charities that offer assistance to homeless families.

After moving 16 times during my adult life, I’m finally home. I encourage my friends and family to come inside, get cozy on the sofa, share a glass of wine, and give a toast to life. The furniture is replaceable, but the memories and good times last forever.

 

The Compulsive Type

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teapot typewriter

I have six old typewriters, and my Underwood No. 5 dates back to 1889, shortly before I was born. I was content with my collection until a friend shared a photograph on Facebook of a teapot shaped like an old typewriter. Without any self-control or deliberation, I ordered the wonderful piece even though it was expensive and had to be shipped from England. I have no rationale to explain this compulsive, selfish purchase. But, I don’t care.

The teapot arrived, safely packaged and authenticated with an official Customers Declaration and a Royal Mail stamp. It’s now sitting in a place of honor in my kitchen, and I want all my writer friends to come over for tea and scones.

old typewriters2

My old typewriters are in my office, along with my business logo for Mill Park Publishing. The logo was created using typewriters keys. I store my typewriters on a wine cabinet that also holds my books, making a focal point for my favorite things: wine, books, and typewriters. Just ignore the sign that says “Write Naked.” I can’t help myself.

My fascination with typewriters dates back to my early childhood. To supplement the family income, my mother worked at night typing reports for local businesses. I remember being lulled to sleep with the sounds of syncopated typing and the familiar ding at the end of a line. Her typewriter now is in my collection, along with my first typewriter that I took to college. We didn’t have word processors or laptop computers back then so we made sure our papers were correct because any error had to be manually erased.

I interned at a newspaper during my senior year in college and worked on a manual typewriter. I expected to write great feature stories or compelling investigative journalism. Instead, I was assigned to write obituaries. Through writing the stories of the dearly departed, I became fascinated with the lives of ordinary people. I often added amazing and exaggerated comments into the obits. No one ever complained.

Subsequent jobs included writing and typing. I received my first word processing computer in 1984 when I worked in corporate communications. I missed the sound of the type (even though now there is an application for that.) I also missed the intimate connection between one machine and me; my new computer was linked throughout the company and I was nervous to type anything frivolous or nonessential. Computers can rob the spontaneous fun out of working, but I’m addicted to their ability to format, cut and paste, spellcheck, and store. But they often crash, and my old typewriters only needed new ribbons.

midlife cabernet cover

My recent book, Midlife Cabernet, includes an artist’s rendition of one of my typewriters. Of course, there is a wine glass. That’s just one more obsession.

My morning ritual consists of taking coffee or tea into my office. Now I’ll pour a cup of tea from my authentic typewriter teapot from England, enter my office and nod to my vintage typewriter collection, and sit down at my desk to work on my laptop. For a compulsive type of person, that the perfect way to begin the day.

MPP Logo Black

 

 

My Five Truths and One Lie

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NaBloPoMo_November

I’m participating in NaBloPoMo, a writing exercise that involves writing a blog every day for the month of November. Yesterday a sassy group of midlife women bloggers wrote five facts and one lie about their lives and we had to guess which comment was the lie. Here are my comments and the revealed lie:

  1. I rode on a bull elephant in a jungle in Nepal and witnessed a tiger kill a water buffalo. True. Here I am on the back of a huge elephant as we departed the safari camp to wander through the jungle. The next shot is of the tiger stalking his prey. Then the dust, screams, shaking elephant, and commotion caused the camera to jerk around, but we captured a few shots. The long-time directors of the camp were amazed because they had never seen a live kill.

tiger kill nepal 2000

2. I floated down the Nile to visit the ancient Temple of Luxor. True. Here I am at the Luxor Temple pointing out a well-endowed Egyptian warrior chiseled in hard stone when the temple was manually erected thousands of years ago. The observation was for historical reference only.

elaine luixor temple

  1. I love beer and ‘brats after a day of fishing. False. I prefer wine, chocolate, and a day of boating.
  1. I sang in the American Cathedral in Paris. True. I sang with a concert choir from the University of Idaho and we toured Europe in 1971. The last performance was in the American Cathedral in Paris, and the sound was so acoustically perfect that we sobbed like babies. The trip changed my life.

elaine paris ui 71

  1. I rode my horse in the barrel race at the Gooding County Fair and Rodeo. True. There aren’t any photos, so you’ll need to trust me. It happened before the invention of cameras, almost. My short story about barrel racing appeared in an anthology titled The Dog with the Old Soul, published by Harlequin.
  1. I can write forward and backwards using two hands while singing in Latin. True. This photo was taken in a quaint café in Sienna, Italy. I am writing backwards with my left hand and forward with my right hand while singing in Latin. I get free drinks in bars with that exceptional talent.

elaine sing sienna crop

Those are five interesting facts and one lie about me. My life continues to be one grand adventure after another. Except for the fishing. I don’t fish.

 

 

Truth with Some Consequencees

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NaBloPoMo_November

I can creatively transform the truth when necessary, and I suspect many of us are guilty of telling little white lies:

“Oh, yes, you have the most beautiful baby in the world!”

“Thank you for the gift of porcelain, laughing frogs. I’ll treasure them forever.”

“Leaving so soon? We must visit again sometime.”

I’ve told door-to-door missionaries that I suddenly have a bout of explosive diarrhea. That really works, and they skedaddle quickly. And, I’ve never changed my weight on my driver’s license, so I haven’t gained a pound in more than 40 years. Score!

I’m participating in NaBloPoMo, a writing exercise that involves writing a blog every day for the month of November. I’m joining a group of midlife women who are blogging today about their lives, only they are including six comments and one is a lie. I’m not comfortable telling a lie to friends, but in the spirit of the game, this is my contribution.

Here are six comments about me. Five are true and one is not. Which one is the lie?

  1. I rode on a bull elephant in a jungle in Nepal and witnessed a tiger kill a water buffalo.
  2. I floated down the Nile to visit the ancient Temple of Luxor.
  3. I love beer and ‘brats after a day of fishing.
  4. I sang in the American Cathedral in Paris.
  5. I rode my horse in the barrel race at the Gooding County Fair and Rodeo.
  6. I can write forward and backwards using two hands while singing in Latin.

I was going to write that I won a graceful, debutante competition at a fancy cotillion and I wore six-inch heels and waltzed the night away, but that would be too easy to spot as an outrageous fabrication with no resemblance to truth. The consequence of that statement would be that no one could keep a straight face when contemplating such an outrageous scenario. The real lie will be exposed in tomorrow’s blog.

 

To the Bad Dad in the Bleachers

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dad scream sports

Dear Bad Dad in the Bleachers,

You are a bully. You stand and yell at your daughter as she plays in a basketball game, your fists are clenched, your face is distorted in rage. She is only 12-years-old, and your cruel actions break my heart.

She’s doing her best to play for her team, and when she catches the ball she eagerly makes her way down the court. I watch as she looks over at you, hopeful for encouragement. Then an opposing team member snatches the ball. You stand again and yell at her, and I see the pained look in her eyes. Stop it.

She’s at a vulnerable age; not a little girl anymore and not a young woman. Her body is changing and she is unsure of her developing hips and breasts. She’s worried she might start her period during the game and blood will stain her white athletic shorts. She’s thinking about the older boy in the neighborhood who asked to give her a ride. She’s wondering about the party invitation she received for the weekend. She knows it will be a long night because her homework isn’t done yet. She’s embarrassed that you are yelling at her in public, and she cringes every time you scream at the referees and her coach.

You only have six more years to become a better parent for your daughter. Otherwise, when she’s 18 she’ll leave your home and try to make it on her own without the steady foundation of unconditional love from the first man in her life. The world will sense her insecurity and pounce like a wild beast.

I was that girl. I craved but never received my father’s affection or approval, and it took decades to finally accept myself. I am not proud of my two divorces or the way I lost a financial fortune because I trusted unscrupulous businessmen. I wish my father had cheered for me when I was 12.

I don’t know you or your family, but I know how your daughter feels. That’s why I wrote this letter, tucked it into an envelope, and handed it to you at the next game. I waited until you stood again and yelled at her. Please read this in private, and think about this wonderful girl who has such amazing potential in life. If you continue to destroy her self-esteem over a game with 12-year-olds, she will drop out of basketball, she will become distracted and dejected, and she will seek approval somewhere else, probably from someone who hurts her.

Sincerely,

A Mother, Grandmother, and Former 12-year-old Girl

 

Have You Laughed 17 Times Today?

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laughing head

What’s with all the gloomy people walking around mumbling and complaining? Don’t they know that laughter is the best medicine? Boisterous laughter is the grand cure that causes your face to contort as you make guttural noises and your eyes water, your gut tumbles, and your mood improves. There is no down side to a good laugh, unless of course it’s at a funeral or in a tragic movie or during sex. Don’t do that.

The world may be boiling in a cesspool of angst, depravity, murder, and disease, but look on the bright side: you’re not getting out alive anyway so you might as well find some humor. I know what makes people laugh: indigestion. Last month I wrote an essay titled “Don’t Fart During an MRI” that was published on The Huffington Post. To date, more than 644,000 people have liked the silly piece and I’m receiving emails of thanks from around the world. The answer to happiness is simple: just fart.

Marshall Brain, founder of How Stuff Works, studied the topic of humor and concluded that human beings love to laugh, and the average adult laughs 17 times a day. Humans love to laugh so much that there are actually industries built around laughter. Jokes, sitcoms and comedians are all designed to get us laughing, because laughing feels good. For us it seems so natural, but the funny thing is that humans are one of the only species that laughs. Laughter is actually a complex response that involves many of the same skills used in solving problems.

Brain notes that laughter is also extremely difficult to control consciously. Try asking a friend to laugh, for example. Most will announce, “I can’t laugh on command,” or some similar statement. Your friends’ observations are accurate — their efforts to laugh on command will be forced or futile. It will take them many seconds to produce a laugh, if they can do it at all. This suggests that we cannot deliberately activate the brain’s mechanisms for affective expression. Playfulness, being in a group, and positive emotional tone mark the social settings of most laughs.

In a serious study on The Science of Laughter published by Robert Provine in Psychology Today, researchers noted that jokes are serious business: they’re innate, important social tools. Authorities from the Bible to Reader’s Digest remind us that “laughter is the best medicine.” Print and broadcast reporters produce upbeat, often frothy stories like “A Laugh a Day Keeps the Doctor Away.” A best-selling Norman Cousins book and a popular Robin Williams film Patch Adams amplified this message. Laughter unites people, and social support has been shown in studies to improve mental and physical health. Indeed, the presumed health benefits of laughter may be coincidental consequences of its primary goal: bringing people together.

Here’s one final thought from Andrea F. Polard, Psy.D, in an article in Psychology Today titled “A Unified Theory of Happiness.” She writes, “We must see life as a divine play and foster lightheartedness. In order to survive, we must play.”

So, turn off the computer, go buy some clown noses, gather some friends, and go play. If that doesn’t work, just fart.