Elaine Ambrose

Bestselling Author, Ventriloquist, & Humorist

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Publishers Weekly Says Midlife Cabernet is “Laugh-out-Loud Funny”

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Midlife Cabernet: Life, Love & Laughter After Fifty

Elaine Ambrose. Mill Park Publishing, $12 paper (224p) ISBN 978-0-9883980-7-8
Ambrose faces the frights, frustrations, and fancies of aging in this refreshingly honest and laugh-out-loud funny survival guide for middle-aged women. Infusing her prose with sarcastic dark humor, the author offers homespun recommendations on dating and sex, raising adult children, and the physical effects of aging—all with brazen cheer. From stressful divorces and facing Christmas alone to disastrous sexual misadventures nothing is sacred or off limits. The author’s prose is lively and entertaining, with statements like “one of the many advantages of living in the last third of life is that I don’t accept crap from anyone.” Sure to be irritated and edified, women over 40 will find a lot to like here.
Reviewed on: 07/28/2014
Release date: 03/01/2014

 

Midlife Cabernet: Being Awesome Behind the Waste Basket

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Last week I attended the BlogHer ’14 Conference in San Jose with several thousand other women and a few brave men. For most of the conference, my photograph was hidden behind a waste basket in the exposition hall. It was the last photo. Down near the floor. No one in the world was older.

But at the next booth, I held a sign that proclaimed, “I’m awesome!” These two wildly opposite comparisons describe my experience at the conference. Here’s what my aging brain can remember of the event.

The Great Swagging Expo Hall

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In the expo hall, several vendors offered ideas and solutions to motivate bloggers to achieve their goals. One booth promoted the Timeline Project which is a software application that helps users visualize and navigate events on a timeline. We were asked to write a specific goal and then our photos were pinned to the wall according to age group. My age group didn’t exist because I’m so old, so my photo was tacked to the bottom of the wall behind a waste basket.

From there I watched the high-heeled youth prance by, oblivious to the fact that I existed and could use a hand to get up. Many of them were scampering to see one of the Kardashians, so I wisely chose to stay behind on the wall. The vendors distributed bags of free swag, and the World’s Cutest Granddaughter loves her new game and toys.

Meeting Pen Pal Friends in Person

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I share blogs with several groups of middle-aged women, and through their stories I knew them before I met them. “I recognize your face!” was a regular comment before the spontaneous hug. One of my new best friends is Sharon Hodor Greenthal, the co-founder of Midlife Boulevard and The Women of Midlife. We’re talking about organizing a retreat for our age group. I’ll bring the appropriate pin-up wall.

Speakers Who Made Me Cry

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Arianna Huffington was delightful with her pithy quotes, but I felt conflicted because bloggers aren’t paid on Huffington Post. The exposure is great but doesn’t pay the mortgage. My favorite speakers were the bloggers who gave humorous, passionate, or emotional accounts of their stories. I’m awed by Jenny Lawson, author of Let’s Pretend This Never Happened, the twelve bloggers who were named the Voices of the Year, and the entire midlife blogging group. My favorite workshop taught me about Social Media Optimization, so now I know how to embed a widget on my blog. Ha!  But I’m still confused about Twitter Analytics because that sounds like a diagnosis for a nervous condition.

Know a Rev from a Dr

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The closing party featured RUN DMC with Rev. Run. I honestly had no clue who he was and thought he was Dr. Dre. My younger, more hip friends quickly corrected me. My bad. But the music was great and I ate a McDonald’s hamburger for the first time in 30 years. I still prefer wine and chocolate.

Feeling High

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On the flight home, I gazed at the Cascade Mountains and reflected on the highs and lows of the conference. In a perfect world, I could go back 30 years and write a blog instead of working in corporate communications. But, I’m tumbling down the far side of fifty and damn fortunate to have enjoyed such an abundant life. And, I didn’t need to go home to change diapers or return to full-time work. Middle-age is a great time of life, and I choose to get out from behind the waste basket and savor every day I have left. Because, as I learned at BlogHer/14, I’m awesome.

Midlife Cabernet: The Confident Curmudgeon

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I’ve been attending conferences and conventions for more than 40 years, beginning in high school with the Future Homemakers of America (FHA) State Convention. Back then, I took a spiral notebook and a pen, and the sessions advised us how to organize our future homes and volunteer in the local community. This week I’m at the BlogHer Conference in San Jose with a lap top, an IPad, and a cell phone and multiple chargers. Workshops focus on marketing strategies, blog monetization, and digital activism. It’s like Home Economics on global steroids.

At my age, I should be rocking on the porch nibbling on iron pills and stool softener. But I willingly chose to attend this conference to learn the latest methods for improving and marketing my blog, Midlife Cabernet. There are more than 3,000 bloggers in attendance and the median age is 36. I have age spots older than the Rock Star Bloggers who enter and leave the room with an entourage, but I’m too old and ornery to be intimidated. I accept and enjoy my role as a confident curmudgeon.

The technology is fascinating. Thirty years ago, I traveled to business meetings and needed to wait until I returned to my office to write and distribute a report or article. Now I type a blog while sitting on the airplane and send it instantly over the Internet to several web sites. I’m one of thousands of bloggers who communicate in blocks of 500 to 1,000 words, the modern version of a syndicated newspaper columnist. Learning and remembering all the computer and online instructions helps keep my aging brain alert when it would rather take a nap.

The BlogHer Conference features a cell phone app that shows the current agenda, speaker biographies, workshop descriptions, and individual schedules. The app even tells me when and where to go for Happy Hour so I don’t need to wander the halls searching for the Hospitality Suite. I’ve made new friends, and the energy is intoxicating. The midlife bloggers have shared written stories for years, so meeting them is the same as finally seeing a good friend for the first time.

In the general sessions and workshops, I prefer to sit near the front so I can hear, take notes, and engage with the presenter. After all, I paid to be at the conference and should take away enough enlightenment, motivation, and skills to cover the costs. It’s also fun to meet people. It’s like the first day of school, except I can’t be sent to the principal’s office anymore. And no one will call my parents to report my disruptive behavior.

During the conference, a huge trade show covers an entire floor in the San Jose Convention Center, and the free handouts are abundant. The staff at one booth took photographs of bloggers with captions asking them what goal they wanted to reach by a specific age. Much to my chagrin, my advanced age wasn’t even listed as a category. But another vendor encouraged women to hold signs with motivational sayings so I confidently held one that read, “I’m awesome.” I like the photo because the heat and humidity make my scraggly hair seem thick. Maybe I should carry a spritzer in my purse after I return to Idaho.

On Sunday, Studley will get me at the airport, and I’ll eagerly tell him about my adventure. Then we’ll share adult beverages on the patio while most of the other bloggers return home to small children, full-time jobs, and pressure to improve their blogs. This seasoned journalist is happy to allow Midlife Cabernet to rest for a few days. Good wine and women need time to breathe.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Yes, I Know the Way to San Jose…

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Of course, I’m not packed. Of course, I have no idea what to wear. Of course, my to-do list is too long to finish today. But, tomorrow I’ll fly out early for San Jose to the BlogHer conference. My intention is to absorb the energy and fuel my blogs for at least another decade.

Yes, I Will Fly Again

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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)

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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.