Elaine Ambrose

Bestselling Author, Ventriloquist, & Humorist

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How to Plan the Perfect Patio for Your Empty Nest

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patio (1)When my kids were little, the back yard contained a haphazard collection of toys, bikes, balls, swings, sand boxes, stray shoes, discarded bandages, frog collections, and roaming neighbor kids. After the children grew up and acquired their own child-friendly yards, I moved into a smaller house and designed a grown-up patio, complete with an unsafe water feature, a dangerous fire pit, and an outdoor refrigerator stocked with wine and beer. There are advantages to getting older.

This patio also has a hot tub, and Studley and I don’t need to be burdened with the necessity to wear swim suits. We can soak while sipping cocktails and not fret that a child might see such a haunting vision and possibly be scarred for life. There is a light-covered grape arbor leading to a rusty bench, a granite-topped bar, a working replica of Manneken Pis, and an open fish pond. Obviously, this patio is for adults only, thank you.

We enjoy the patio almost every evening. Given the choice to go out to dinner or a party, we’d rather sit outside with a cheese plate and an adult beverage. That’s a luxury we didn’t have when our children lived at home, we worked full-time jobs, and we learned at bedtime that it was our turn to furnish snacks for school the next day. Canned frosting hastily smeared between graham crackers was my go-to treat.

You can create your own midlife patio, too, with a few helpful tips:

1. Collect photographs of patios you like. Attend home and garden exhibits for ideas and local advice. You may have rules through your homeowners association, so check before you build any giant structures.

2. Establish a budget and consider how much you can do yourself. Remember you’re saving money by not paying for school clothes, field trips, prom dresses, and counseling. Allocate those funds to your midlife patio.

3. Consider removing the grass. You probably won’t be camping or swinging in your yard anymore, so create a design that uses less water and labor. There’s no grass in my back yard because the landscape incorporates pavers, boulders, sturdy bushes, and flower pots with automatic drip lines.

4. Invest in quality patio furniture. It’s tempting to buy the cheap plastic chairs from discount stores, but they need to be replaced regularly. If you intend to spend hours on your patio, it’s best to do so on padded, swivel chairs or recliners.

5. Consider a fish pond. We have Koi and goldfish, and they make the perfect pets. No mess to clean up, no kennel needed, and they hibernate all winter. Too bad kids aren’t like that.

I do miss the laughter and commotion of my energetic children. But now my grandkids have their own fun yards to play in, and we visit them often to join in the activities. Then it’s always nice to come home, light the fire pit, and talk in the private retreat of our empty nest. And, there is no need to pick up any toys or dog poop.

Southfork River Sonnet

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Southfork River Sonnet

A sliver of river now dappled with rain,
Embraces the melt from the snow-covered ridges,
Dividing the meadows and mountain terrain
As it flows through the canyons, beneath weathered bridges.
From cities they come in the warm summer days,
As they bounce over rocks in their guided plump rafts.
When they cherish adventure, the river obeys,
And the air is resplendent with singing and laughs.
Too soon leaves turn gold and fly free from the trees,
While the river recedes and the levels get low.
The hairy fat elk herds prepare for the freeze,
And the river awaits the fulfillment of snow.
Then cold waters return as they have through the years,
And the river responds with a song no one hears.

(c) Elaine Ambrose

Midlife Cabernet: Survival Guide for a Glamorous Gala

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The invitation seemed fun: a charity event with a theme of women, shoes, and wine. What could go wrong? I arrived alone, eagerly anticipating a fun evening but instead I found a sorority initiation and I had been blackballed by secret ballot. They forgot to tell me.

The room overflowed with young, beautiful women dressed in tiny white dresses and prancing about on stiletto heels. I stood in low, sensible sandals wearing a multi-colored dress that wouldn’t wrinkle or show wine stains. My outfit covered my cleavage and thighs, which is more than I can say for the other dresses. I felt like a middle-aged, iron-deficient matron surrounded by Vegas show girls.

I paid good money (25% deductible) to be there, so I picked up my commemorative wine glass and entered the soirée. I endured the evening by using this hastily devised survival guide modeled after the five stages of dealing with grief and sorrow.

1. Denial. Once, there was no way in hell that I couldn’t command everyone in the room to look up when I arrived. But now people couldn’t glance beyond their appetizer plate when I entered, and the chirpy young woman at the registration table hollered, “And, who are you?” I retorted, “I’m your worst nightmare, Honey.” I refused to believe that I was twice as old and weighed 50% more that the ebullient host and her entourage. Please note: Denial is best tolerated with a bold Cabernet. Or two.
2. Anger. Immediately I regretted wearing my frumpy outfit and boring shoes. Didn’t I read the invitation? Did I assume it would be a hootenanny down at the feed store? How could I allow myself to morph into a cartoon character for the crazy old aunt? Why didn’t I wear the fancy high-heeled shoes that cost more per square inch than ocean-view property? Didn’t all these spoiled debutants know that gravity eventually will win and in a few years all those perky boobs will be lolling down near the floor? Yes, I was that snarky and insecure.
3. Bargaining. After a few minutes, I was willing to trade my car to go back in time thirty years. But, there were no takers and I really liked my car.
4. Depression. After I realized that the energy of the evening didn’t need me, I felt deflated. But that just prompted another trip to the dessert table and wine bar. Sugar and fermented grapes continue to provide my go-to pick-me-up.
5. Acceptance. I finally acknowledged that the statuesque blond strutting in a transparent shrink-wrapped tube of material was gorgeous, and I accepted the fact that this beauty wasn’t me. Finally, after maneuvering through the crowd of pampered princesses, I stood alone and embraced the reality that I was comfortable in my own skin, every wrinkled and worn expanse of it. Acceptance is so much more fun than dwelling in anger and depression.
I stayed long enough to sample the delicious appetizers and savor the appealing wine. Then I left unnoticed and entered an elevator full of lovely young women holding their shoes.
“My feet are killing me!’ one exclaimed.
“I don’t have periods anymore,” I said. Then I walked into the night, smiling in the twilight of wise old age.

New Book for Middle-Aged Women Wins National IPPY Humor Award

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photo (2)Midlife Cabernet – Life, Love & Laughter after Fifty by Idaho author Elaine Ambrose won the Silver Medal for Humor in the annual Independent Publisher Book Award (IPPY) competition that honors independent authors and publishers worldwide. More than 6,000 entries were judged in this year’s competition to recognize and reward independent spirit and creativity in publishing. Awards will be given on May 28 in New York City.

Midlife Cabernet was published by Mill Park Publishing of Eagle. Ambrose founded the company to publish works by local women writers and donate proceeds to local charities. This is the company’s second IPPY award, and Ambrose’s other books also have won a national humor award from ForeWord Magazine and five awards from recent competitions sponsored by the Idaho Book Extravaganza.

“We are thrilled to receive another award to acknowledge quality books from Mill Park Publishing,” said Ambrose. “The success of Midlife Cabernet proves there are millions of middle-aged women who would rather laugh than break something, preferably while holding a bold Cabernet.”

A national review by ForeWord Reviews wrote that, “Elaine Ambrose’s Midlife Cabernet is an Erma Bombeck-esque tribute to women who are over fifty and ready to explore life on new terms. It’s a humorous and sassy-yet-compassionate view of life over the hill, as well as a retrospective on the climb to the top. The writing and mechanics are solid, and the tone is cheerful and friendly in a punchy and humorous series of essays.”

In the past few years, Mill Park Publishing has donated more than $10,000 to local non-profit organizations and charities. Proceeds from the novel The Angel of Esperança by Judith McConnell Steele provided $1,000 to fund a Writer in the Schools teacher sponsored by The Cabin. Other recipients include Dress for Success Treasure Valley, the Women’s and Children’s Alliance, the West Valley YMCA, the University of Idaho music program, and the Idaho Writers Guild.

Ambrose is the author of nine books, including the bestseller Menopause Sucks. Her blog “Midlife Cabernet” is featured on www.Blogher.com and on her web site www.test.elaineambrose.com. Mill Park Publishing also organizes writer’s retreats throughout the year, and details are listed on www.MillParkPublishing.com. Books are available from the web sites, amazon.com, and local book stores.

When Mom Sang “Que Sera, Sera”

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I was 7-years-old the first time I saw my mother cry. She leaned against the kitchen counter with her face pressed into a gingham tea towel, and I didn’t know what to do because it was my fault she was sobbing. She had returned from the hospital and told me she “lost the baby,” and I yelled at her to go find it. I didn’t understand what had happened.

My grandmother took my older brother and me to the mortuary to see the perfect baby wrapped in a delicate pink blanket cradled into a tiny white casket. They named her Carol, and I wanted to hold her. Grandma tried to explain how the cord was wrapped around her neck but that just made me mad. My friend’s mother had a healthy baby almost every year and they never strangled at birth. All I knew was that I could hear my mother crying when she thought we were asleep, and I only wanted her to be happy.

For weeks after the funeral I tried in vain to make her smile. Then one autumn day she placed the needle on her well-worn Doris Day record album and sang a few off-key verses of “Que Sera, Sera,” shattering the heavy gloom that had settled like an unwanted, sickly guest. “Whatever will be, will be” became my mother’s mantra, and it sustained her through a life of abundance tempered with physical and mental pain.

Mom worked two jobs while my father was gone building his trucking business. She babysat other children during the day and typed reports for various businesses during the night. I remember being lulled to sleep by the clack, clack sounds and the rhythmic ding of the manual typewriter. When I was four, my mother gave birth to my younger brother but my father was gone driving an 18-wheel truck to California with a load of meat from Montana. He didn’t return for four days because he needed to broker a load of frozen food to bring back. My mother waited patiently for him to return and name the baby. I never appreciated the magnitude of her sacrifices until many decades later.

By then, I too was a mother. I’ll never forget the first moment I felt the faint flutter of my unborn baby. I was alone on a business trip to Logan, Utah, and I silently celebrated and also trembled with fear at the mysterious wonder that grew near my heart. My biggest concern was about the umbilical cord, and even though my daughter was born in critical condition and rushed to intensive care, she rallied and we went home together. The first few months, I got up several times during the night to touch her to make sure she was still there. During those quiet lullabies in the night, I promised to love her and make her happy.

Two years later I was blessed with a son, and again, I got up in the night to touch him. The rhythmic breathing of my sleeping children was nourishment to my soul and offered a cadence that motivated me to take care of them. My daughter and son now have daughters of their own, so they know the intense power of parenthood.

Mom was widowed 25 years ago at age 62, and though she maintained her steadfast attitude claiming “What will be, will be,” I noticed a sadness in her eyes as she slipped into dementia. She is frail and frequently talks of angels and of seeing my dad and her departed sister and friends. I will mourn her passing but rejoice when she is free from her earthly limitations. I envision her running to her lost child and rocking the baby without distraction. Then, finally, she will be happy.

(Update: My sweet mother passed away in 2014, and my brothers died in 2017 and 2019. I imagine her smiling with Carol, my dad, and my two brothers.)

Midlife Cabernet: Mothers and Daughters from a Different Story

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photo (3)In fits of exasperation during my volatile teenage years, my mother would exclaim, “I hope you have a daughter just like you!” Thankfully, I did. And during my daughter’s spirited times, somehow my mother’s words came out of my mouth. And yes, she also has an ebullient child. We have several years before my granddaughter is a teenager, but I predict the same conversation will occur.

Another accusation my beleaguered mother used to say was that I was only happy doing what I wanted to do. Even as a defiant little girl, I would retort, “What’s wrong with that?” Sorry, Mom.

I can’t write a warm and glowing tribute to my mother because we have never been close. There weren’t any shared secrets or long calls or exchanges of advice. Once a man hit me and split my lip, but I couldn’t tell my mother even though she was only 30 minutes away. I fled to the home of a friend’s mother for consolation. I wish it had been different.

My mother always has been timid and insecure, and our personalities clashed from the start. She was the Sunday School teacher, the Cub Scout Leader, and the dutiful wife and mother. But she didn’t know what to do with me, and I couldn’t be the daughter she wanted. When my parents drove me to college and found the reception area, I bolted from the car and never looked back. There weren’t any hugs or tears because all three of us were relieved that I was out of the house.

I respect my mother and know that she’s had a difficult life full of pain and sorrow. I admire her because she has a fierce determination that should be studied by medical science. And I love her as best I can. Widowed for 25 years, now she lives in a nursing home and is confined to a wheelchair. She is afflicted with dementia and I hope that when she smiles she is remembering the good and positive times she experienced during her 87 years.

The legacy of growing up in a loveless family is that there are no guidelines to follow to a better life. I knew that I wanted a close family and when I was blessed with two children, I became the Mother Bear of the Universe. I made mistakes, as we all do, but my allegiance to them remains true and unwavering. Now they have strong marriages and excellent relationships with their children, and I am in awe of their parenting skills.

The greatest parenting achievement for me is that I see and talk with my children regularly. They taught me how to do this, and I highly recommend it. I’ll continue to visit my mother and be attentive to her needs, but spending time with my adult children is like receiving a gift I always wanted. And as my mother used to say, I’m happiest when I get what I want.

With sincere admiration and love, I wish my mother, my daughter, and my daughter-in-law a splendid Mother’s Day. Remember that your children want you to be happy.