Elaine Ambrose

Bestselling Author, Ventriloquist, & Humorist

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Midlife Cabernet: A Survival Guide in Five Easy Paragraphs

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Some of you have been around the block enough times to know where to avoid the mud and dog poop or when to stop and smell the roses. Others, however, refuse to try a better path so they continue to trip over the same obstacles. And, then there is THAT group – the ones who stand in the street waiting for a free ride and then can’t understand why they get hit by a bus.

My spirited and splendid journey through life has taught me that the secrets to survival can be condensed to five easy paragraphs. It’s short because so is life.

  1. Use your common sense. Spend less money than you make or you’ll become a slave to debt which leads to misery, failure, and regret. Don’t go on a zip line through the jungle if you have a bladder problem because there aren’t any restrooms on those wobbly platforms. If you regularly eat an entire pecan pie with ice cream, you won’t look good naked. See how it works? Our brains have the remarkable ability to make good or bad decisions and choices. My mature brain tells me to manage money, avoid zip lines, and not come within 10 miles of a pie.
  2. Focus on fitness. Keep that pie image (and who wouldn’t?) and acknowledge that input should balance output. If you consume more food than you need to survive, you should expend enough energy to burn off the unnecessary calories. Get and stay healthy because life has a way of instantly whisking you from the high school prom to your 20-year reunion. And then it’s just a few hours before you’re sneaking into the store for reading glasses and incontinence supplies. Don’t wait until you’re older and lack the physical ability to skip with your grandchildren or chase your handsome hunk around the house, at different times of course.
  3. Love to be in love. As the years go by, there is a profound sweetness in waking up with someone who accepts your wrinkles, thinning hair, and sagging body parts and then says, “Good morning, Gorgeous.” Love your lover every day, from a passing wink to a sensual massage serenaded by Luther Vandross. A steady, exclusive relationship can turn a slow dance on the patio into a romantic encounter worthy of an evening in Paris. (Paris is always an adequate option.)
  4. Bad things happen. No one gets a free pass on calamity. During your life, you probably will experience flat tires, funerals, diarrhea, betrayal, lost love, fights with family, at least one broken bone, flatulence during a wedding, and the world’s worst boss. So you get up again, adjust your armor, and holler that you’re ready for the next challenge. Looking back at the assorted chaos in my life, I realize there were far more splendid times than bad. And the truly amazing adventures happened after I initially failed or took a risk.
  5. Attitude is everything. Positive, grateful people enjoy the best of life. By midlife, the laugh lines around their eyes reveal countless smiles through the miles, and their journey is one to emulate. Crabby, cynical worrywarts suck the energy from everyone they meet. Avoid them.

‘Dear Abby’ Pauline Phillips died this week at the age of 94. For almost 46 years, her advice columns appeared in 1,000 newspapers around the world. She wrote in her autobiography that her demanding job was not work because “It’s only work if you’d rather be doing something else.” I agree with her, and so my advice is to choose wisely, get healthy, love intensely, combat calamity, and be happy. Finally, remember that life is short. Make it sassy.

Today’s blog is fueled by a 2009 Storyteller syrah from South Africa. This tasty wine makes a perfect gift to share with the creative person in your life.

Can You Move It for Mirabel?

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Click here:

https://www.facebook.com/events/477046175670405/

mirabel mar 2012

My wee granddaughter needs some energy to learn to walk before her third birthday. She was born with Down syndrome and her darlin’ little body doesn’t have the strength to walk. Please click on the above link, read my daughter’s invitation, and then go take a walk. It’s a win-win situation!

When she finally walks, we’ll all celebrate!

Midlife Cabernet: How to Raise Amazing Children

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My son works in law enforcement and his job often requires him to enter homes where good parenting skills aren’t a priority. It’s difficult to prepare a nutritious family meal when the kitchen has been converted into a meth lab and the toddler is drinking from the dog’s bowl.

Fortunately for me, because of these horrible conditions my son now believes that I was Mother of the Year and that it wasn’t so bad when I served macaroni and leftover meatloaf for dinner during his formative years. He also understands why I was known as the Mother Bear of Centennial High School.

Yes, I was one of those mothers – the one who wanted to know her children’s friends, where they were going, and what time they would be home. My daughter still hasn’t forgiven me for panicking when she missed a high school curfew. I started calling everyone, including her school principal. She’ll understand in 10 years when her daughter is 15.

When my two children were teenagers, we had a large basement and I enjoyed inviting their friends over for pizza parties. The peace of mind was worth the clutter, noise, expense, and assorted chaos. Years later, I often encounter some of those teens who are now productive young adults. They fondly recount stories about those years, and not one of them served time in jail, became a television evangelist, or built a meth lab. I’m happy about that.

In my humble opinion, there are three main ways to raise amazing children: First, love them – fiercely, totally, and unconditionally. Second, set an example by your words and actions. Don’t expect them to get academic scholarships if you haven’t read a book in 20 years. Third, get lucky. We all know good parents who have bad children, and vice versa.

I will never regret my decision to have children, and motherhood is an essential part of the woman I am. I have saved every Mother’s Day card and only recently discarded their 20-year-old baby teeth. I had saved them in little packets labeled with the dates of when they fell out. I also saved the last bottle of breast milk in the freezer for 22 years. Yes, I probably need counseling for that.

My adult children now have children of their own, and I’m amazed at how well they are doing as parents. There is tremendous stress on young families today, and children grow up way too fast. My childhood was full of freedom – we played outside until dark, never wore a helmet, and our only telephone was attached to a wall back home. I worry about my grandchildren in our brave new world, but I know they’re in good hands and come from a strong foundation. And they don’t live too far from this devoted Grandmother Bear.

Today’s blog is fueled by a 2009 Windmill Red from Williamson Orchard near Caldwell. The wine is inexpensive at only $15 a bottle, and it’s a nice blend of Sangiovese and Cabernet Sauvignon. This local wineyard has produced tasty wines for more than 100 years. Find information about wines, prices, and tasting hours at www.willorch.com.

Midlife Cabernet: A Kiss Every Day Outlasts Lingerie

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The National Retail Federation predicts that $18.6 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 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 63-year-old Irene Ryan as Granny Clampett in the television series “Beverly Hillbillies” and prefer the strong image of 63-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 79 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.

Today’s blog was fueled by a lovely Merryvale Cabernet with a Valentine’s Day dinner. Perfect way to end the day…

valentines 2013

Midlife Cabernet: The Fun of Falling in Love at Fifty

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Nothing screams “pathetic loser” more than being a middle-aged divorcee alone at a festive party where beautiful couples are trading sloppy kisses and giggling like demented clowns. There’s not enough spiked punch in the world to soften the pain of pretending it doesn’t matter. Many of us graze along the buffet table hoping the crunch of nachos will be louder than the boisterous laughter of young lovers and then we migrate to the bar because all we get to take home is a headache.

We never intended to be divorced at midlife, but it happened. According to a recent study by Bowling Green State University in Ohio, the divorce rate among people age 46 to 64 has grown more than 50 percent. Almost one-third of baby boomers are single either by divorce, separation or they have never been married. Some are attracted to the single lifestyle while others would trade their original Beatles record collection for some hot passion.

I faced a Christmas alone while in my fifties. My children were grown with families of their own, and I cheerfully participated in their activities. But I came home every night to an empty house. I unpacked the decorations and forced myself to set up a tree, but the ornaments reminded me of a past life, one that was broken beyond repair. So I turned to retail therapy and bought new ornaments, but it wasn’t the same. Deck the halls with strange boughs of holly was a different song and I didn’t know the verses.

I survived until the wonderful day of December 26 when the world returned to normal. Hairdressers, mailmen, and waiters didn’t need to perk up for an extra tip, deranged drivers went back to cutting in line, and children didn’t care if the silly elf on the shelf was watching because they had 11 free months to misbehave. And, divorced people could return to work and focus on important things, such as how to lose the extra ten pounds gained while gobbling an entire pecan pie alone on Christmas Eve.

Soon after my winter of discontent, some friends invited me to dinner. They just happened to have a recently divorced guest who was visiting from another state. I never turn down a free meal, so I agreed to join them. I met him, also in his fifties and ruggedly handsome, and instantly felt a connection. At dinner, our knees touched under the table during the salad course. We laughed at silly jokes during the entrée, and by dessert, he was feeding me bites of cheesecake. I felt like a goofy teenager.

We spent four days together, often to the chagrin of his abandoned hosts, and then I took him to the airport. It was a scene out of Casablanca, complete with winter fog and drama. He held me close and whispered, “We’ll always have Boise.” Then he tipped his hat, sauntered through security, and hollered, “Here’s looking at you, Kid.”

I drove home, wondering if he remembered my real name wasn’t Kid. But, it didn’t matter. I was smitten and it felt good. Of all the towns, in all the world, he walked into mine. He called when he landed at the next airport and was about to change planes. “I think this is the beginning of a beautiful relationship,” he said. “Say it again,” I said, “For old times’ sake.” And, yes, at that moment we were Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman but without the messy Nazi and farewell forever scenes.

We enjoyed a long-distance relationship over the next few months. Actually, it’s better to talk on the telephone because that’s when you really get to know someone without the physical distractions. After two months of fabulous phone fantasy, he made plans to return to Idaho. We embraced in the airport like long-lost lovers. I expected a crew from central casting to yell “Action” as we clung together in frantic passion. I even heard music from a mysterious gospel choir.

At midlife, adults know what they want and don’t want. There is no time for games because we never know when we’ll get struck by a bus or wander onto a bus and never return. We accept our partner’s wrinkles and well-earned laugh lines, and we’re positively giddy that we can enjoy romance again. My more-than-significant-other got a job in Idaho, moved in with me, and we never looked back. He loved my children and I loved his. One benefit of middle-aged marriage is that there aren’t any in-law issues to handle. Our surviving parents just want us to be happy. If only they could remember our names!

We married on an island in Greece with a bevy of Greeks who couldn’t speak English. We sang, ate, and danced beside the sea. The following Christmas we hung mistletoe over the doorway and in front of children and grandchildren we kissed, much longer than necessary. We celebrated our current love and future journey, ever mindful that we could have missed this splendid opportunity for happiness. Occasionally I’ll bring home a cheesecake to refresh the memories of our first dinner together. We share a few bites, floss and take our vitamins, and then turn down the lights.

Today’s blog was fueled by a 2007 Canoe Ridge Estate Merlot from Chateau Ste. Michelle. This delightful wine is from Horse Heaven Hills in Washington State. Some fabulous wines are coming from Washington, and the wineries are calling me: Road trip!

Midlife Cabernet: Kegels, Incontinence, and Crazy Caballeros

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There is a reason most middle-aged women don’t ride on galloping horses, jump on trampolines, or finish a set of jumping jacks during exercise class. We wet our pants. Throw in a simple sneeze and it’s all over, literally.

Even after years of faithfully doing Kegel exercises to strengthen pelvic floor muscles, we remain a bit fearful of spontaneous activities that require bladder control. We wouldn’t dare wear white pants to jump rope with our grandkids, and lifting a sack of potatoes could ruin a good day at the market. For the two bored and bewildered men who may be reading, a Kegel exercise involves stopping and starting urination. Tighter pelvic muscles help in other areas, too, but we’ll discuss that another time.

According to the Agency for Healthcare Research and Quality, 35 percent of American middle-aged women experience urinary incontinence. That’s more than 10 million people you should avoid sitting next to at a comedy show.

Most comedy clubs have easy access to the women’s bathrooms because we love to laugh without needing to wear Depends. I’ve seen live shows by comediennes Rita Radner, Joan Rivers, and Stacy Dymalski. After the performances the women in the audience stampede to the restrooms like herds of wildebeests, ever ready to fall over the cliff of death rather than suffer the total humiliation of wet pants. We diligently face the issue now, before we’re spending our last days in some care facility where we won’t give a damn anymore.

As I discussed in my book Menopause Sucks, the reasons for bladder control problems include pregnancy and childbirth, urinary tract infections, disease, some medications, injuries, and yep, old age. Doctors recommend several remedies: cut back on caffeine because it acts as a diuretic, always carry protective pads, schedule regular restroom breaks, consider hormone creams, try biofeedback techniques, use a support device, or ask about the 300 surgical options available to treat incontinence. There is always the Chinese therapy involving vaginal weights which gives a whole new meaning to the term Chinese Take-out. Finally, talk with other women who are successfully dealing with the issue. Prompt a lively discussion at your next society luncheon by asking, “Do you wet your pants every time you sneeze, cough, or laugh?”

We’ve all read articles about amazing middle-aged ballerinas and gymnasts who still can run and jump like manic gazelles, but they probably never gave natural birth to anyone larger than two pounds. My children came with a force so powerful it should have been studied by NASA. And those industrial-sized cherubs altered every surrounding organ in their quest to leave my body. Even after female surgery I still don’t trust a good belly laugh without checking for the nearest exit.

On a recent vacation in Mexico, my adorable husband Studley surprised me with an excursion to ride horses on the beach along the Pacific Ocean. He’s heard my legendary stories of riding in the Gooding County Fair and Rodeo, and he knows I was a gallant barrel racer. His eyes positively glowed when he told me about the impending ride. I didn’t have the heart to tell him it had been more than 25 years since I last rode a horse, and wouldn’t new jewelry be just as exciting?

We arrived for our ride and were handed huge lead-lined goblets of beer from a battered keg marked Cerveza Pacifico. Our horses eyed us with despair but we quaffed our beers and wrangled onto the saddles. The first hour was fun as we galloped along the beach with our singing guide. Then my body realized it had endured all the fun it needed. By the second hour of trotting and galloping in the saddle, my bladder declared mutiny. I had to go NOW!

A few scraggly bushes offered the only privacy, and I had a real Charley horse in my leg. I knew that if I got down there was only a 20 percent change I’d ever get back up on the horse. So I meditated and practiced the Kegel exercises as Studley and the crazy caballero hooped and hollered on their rides. My horse was clearly irritated and commenced to relieve himself regularly, as if to mock my dire situation.

After what seemed like two weeks, we finally returned to the corrals. Both men had to help me down and I waddled to the nearest fly-infested relief station as my horse eagerly trotted away. I’m sure the horses gather at the end of the day to commiserate about their riders.

“I suffered through a total jerk today. He kept kicking my sides to make me gallop and you know how my bursitis is acting up these days.”

“Well, I carried a soggy sissy who was afraid to let me run freely.”

“Some day we’ll blow this gig and settle down on some lush farm in Kentucky.”

I truly appreciate my husband’s loving gesture, but I’ve hinted that for our next adventure we could attend a romantic musical at a fancy place with plush velour seats, a selection of fine wines, and several clean bathrooms reserved for women over 45. I hear a boisterous chorus shouting, “Amen, Sister!”

Today’s blog is fueled by a 2012 Caracter Cabernet Sauvignon from Argentina. We enjoyed this inexpensive wine on our vacation. It tasted better than the flat beer from the battered keg.