Elaine Ambrose

Bestselling Author, Ventriloquist, & Humorist

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aging

How Community Theatre Improved My Health

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I grew up during the sixties on a farm near the village of Wendell, Idaho, when the population was 1,000. Our high school didn’t have a drama department, and any student productions were presented in the elementary school lunchroom. Acting was not regarded as a viable career, but I included the possibility on my bucket list of things to try before I died.

After five decades of raising children, working in various jobs, and retiring in Eagle, Idaho, I decided to audition for community theatre. I was 72 and recuperating from heart surgery due to cardiomyopathy. My new defibrillator was a physical reminder that my life and heartbeat were regulated by a device installed beneath my collarbone. I experienced shortness of breath with any activity, so I decided acting would be a fun way to experiment with breath control and complete my bucket list. I was correct.

Acting in the Eagle Theatre Company has improved my mental and physical health. Memorizing lines challenges my aging brain, and delivering the lines helps with breath control. The audience applause is a bonus advantage.

My first audition was a failure. I was given the role of Madam Arcati in “Blithe Spirit.” After rehearsing for a month, I admitted I couldn’t reach Act III and recite hundreds of lines because I ran out of breath. I relinquished the role. My next audition was for a smaller role, Miss Prism in “The Importance of Being Earnest.” I loved the role, and the play was a hit.

I loved the role of Miss Prism in “The Importance of Being Earnest.”

I’m currently playing Ozella Meeks in “Southern Fried Funeral.” The role only contains 100 lines, but I’ve tackled the character with all the sass I can muster. I’m thrilled with the positive response.

The high schools around Boise offer amazing theatre departments and professional stages with performance facilities that can seat hundreds of students. Young people have advantages to learn how to act and can utilize these skills in future professional capacities. It’s a long distance from the farming community of Wendell.

I intend to audition for future plays. There are several community theatres in the area, and I hope to find small but clever roles to play. I breathe better with every rehearsal and look forward to meeting new cast members and directors. Community Theatre provided the perfect anecdote to my aging attitude and challenged aptitude. This weekend at two sold-out shows, I look forward to when the stage manager says, “Take Your Places.”

Magically Invisible after Age 50

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After a certain age, women are ignored as if they don’t exist. We could tap dance through a crowded room wearing lighted clown noses with a tray of free martinis on our heads while singing an Italian opera, but no one would notice. Trust me, I’ve tried.

Sales clerks, young coworkers, and several relatives refuse to acknowledge us. After being ignored by waiters, we’re often tempted to march into the kitchen at a restaurant, dish up whatever is cooking on the stove, and bring it to our table. Then we could leave money on the table and tip ourselves before we left.

One time, my friend Nancy and I experienced a frustrating time trying to get the attention of a sales clerk as we patiently waited to return a purchase. We needed to exchange the bling-covered, thigh-high boots we bought in a moment of unbridled foolishness. There may have been alcohol involved.

“If this line takes any longer, I’ll have to chew these boots for my dinner,” Nancy said.

“I think the warranty just expired on my new tires,” I responded.

“Oh, look! I think the sales clerk just noticed us and gave a faint smile.”

Then a young tart with a plastic face and noisy bangles came skittering up on her six-inch heels, shoved her assets in front of us, and received immediate attention from the animated sales staff. After being ignored, we suddenly disregarded our childhood instructions to be people-pleasers. We began to channel their dormant inner sorcerer. We may have briefly levitated.

“We could curse her until she spontaneously bursts into flames,” I said.

“No, if we have that much power, let’s turn her older than we are,” snarled Nancy.

Nancy felt emboldened and moved closer to the counter. “You must be so much more important than I am,” she said. “My mama told me not to be pushy like you, so I’ll just continue to wait here looking at your imperfect backside.” She added a toothy smile, raised her eyebrows, and tilted her head ever so slightly.

The intruder felt the glare of angry eyes on the back of her well-styled hairdo and turned around. Sensing a pack of wild women who were hungry, breathing their last breath of tolerance, and in desperate need of a bathroom, she stammered an apology and slinked away before the sales clerk could call for security.

Nancy and I high-fived like silly school girls and pushed toward the counter. We managed to return the boots and have time to relax at a nearby restaurant. We were delighted when a handsome young waiter rushed over, obviously excited to greet us. Maybe we weren’t invisible or irrelevant, after all!

“You look just like my grandmother!” he gushed. “She died last year.”

We ordered and enjoyed two glasses of wine, tipped the waiter and patted him on the head like a good boy, and went shopping for bling-covered, thigh-high boots.

 

Bag Balm™ is NOT an Aphrodisiac

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I own night gowns that date back to the Clinton Administration. My favorite slippers have shuffled me toward my coffee pot since the Eurythmics sang “Sweet Dreams are Made of This.” And, I can’t part with my favorite robe that I wore when laughing at Johnny Carson before signing off on the Tonight Show.

After a certain age, most women have earned the right to crave comfort with lounge clothes that are labeled X-Large instead of XXX. We’d rather eat cheesecake than pose for it. I tried once, I really did. In a pathetic attempt to mimic a seductress, I wiggled into a teeny black outfit that cost more per ounce than gold. I couldn’t tell which was the front or the back, so I think I had it on sideways. Then I arched my loafer-loving feet into a pair of black shoes with 5-inch heels and teetered over to Husband. He looked up and got that panicked look he gets when he knows whatever he says will be wrong.

“Did that shrink?” he asked, right before I wobbled on the heels and fell down. The tiny strap on the garment snapped and all hell broke loose. It was not a pretty sight. Husband discreetly brought my Johnny Carson robe so I quickly covered my body and recovered my composure. He assured me that he loved me just how I was, and I assured him that he finally said something right. The skimpy outfit was washed, folded, and donated along with the heels. I’m sure they bring comfort and joy to someone else.

Not enough bag balm to cover these girls…

Husband tolerates my well-worn night gowns, but I crossed the line recently when I applied Bag Balm™ before coming to bed. Those of us who grew up on a farm know that the familiar green tin can of ointment was a staple in the medicine cabinet. It’s been around since 1899 and was originally used to treat cows with dry, cracked udders. Farm (and many city) women use the ointment to smear on their heels because it works better than expensive foot creams. So, one night after I slathered my heels with the greasy balm, covered my feet with thick, white socks, donned my pill-covered gown, and jumped into bed, Husband remarked that maybe I could try the little black outfit again sometime.

He’s still recuperating.

 

My Broken Heart

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Echocardiogram Machine

I had a heart attack during the night after giving a presentation at a writer’s retreat in Mexico. I didn’t want to go to a hospital in a foreign country, so I contacted the airlines and requested a wheelchair for the journey to Idaho. On the positive side, a wheelchair makes it a breeze to get through U.S. Customs and to be first onto the airplane.  Struggling for breath, I maneuvered my carry-on suitcase to the nearest chair and fell into it, panting for air. One thought repeated through my mind: Get home.

My favorite wheelchair pusher was in the Los Angeles airport. My guardian angel appeared disguised as a gregarious, Black woman named Diamond. She assisted me into the chair and eased my distress with funny stories as she negotiated the crowds. I finally could breathe without gasping and asked her if she had been a race car driver.

“Oh honey, no,” she said with a laugh. “I’ve been doing this for 30 years. You wouldn’t believe the people I have guided through these corridors. Lots of famous people. Are you famous?”

I smiled. “More like infamous,” I replied. I explained how I was returning from Todos Santos, Mexico after presenting a workshop at a writer’s retreat.

“I want to write a book!” she exclaimed as she careened around a corner to the gate. “I have tons of stories!”

I encouraged her to find free online writing courses, write every night, and compile her memories into short stories. As she pushed my chair down the ramp to the plane, she promised to send me a copy of her future book. I thanked Diamond and hoped I’d be alive to read it.

Taking My Breath Away
My breathing problems began months earlier. I ignored the loss of breath and low energy, believing the problems would go away. They didn’t. Finally, on May 25 I had an EKG, and my doctor identified a “left bundle branch block,” meaning there was a blockage on the left side of my heart. The condition indicated heart disease. That diagnosis wasn’t on my agenda.

She referred me to a cardiologist and warned it could take months to get an appointment. I got on the phone with the determination of a woman who didn’t want to die during the summer. The stars were aligned, the doctor at St. Luke’s Idaho Cardiology Associates had a cancellation, and I secured an appointment to see him on June 3. The cardiologist reviewed the EKG and ordered comprehensive blood work, a complete transthoracic echocardiogram, and a Nuclear Lexiscan stress test. The Nuclear Lexiscan test injects radioactive dye into the blood, and a camera detects damage to the heart and blocked arteries. The four-hour procedures were scheduled for June 29, only five weeks after the initial EKG. The cardiologist gave me permission to attend the writer’s retreat in Mexico but with a stern warning to avoid stress. I laughed.

On June 29, I was ushered into a room with Teresa, the medical technician who would perform the echocardiogram. I watched the monitor as she applied a gel to my chest and moved a tool called a transducer. I immediately admired and appreciated my heart. There it was, pumping as best it could. The average heart beats more than 100,000 times in one day, about 35 million times in a year. My heart was the most consistent part of my entire life. I regretted not taking better care of my heart health.

After an hour, Teresa called for an IV to be inserted in my arm so she could take more tests. Then she called for the cardiologist. I suspected something was wrong.

“Keep beating,” I silently begged my heart. “I need ten more years.”

The cardiologist appeared after reviewing the echocardiogram. “We’re cancelled the three-hour Nuclear Lexiscan test,” he said. “Your heart is too weak.”

I had failed the heart test.

Barbara Hershey and Bette Midler in Beaches

I’d Rather Play Bette Midler’s Role in Beaches
He explained that my heart only was working at 70 percent because of a damaged left ventricle. I had cardiomyopathy; a disease similar to what killed Barbara Hershey’s character in the movie Beaches. I’d rather have played Bette Midler’s role.

He prescribed several medications and scheduled a return visit for July 22. Depending on the prognosis, I could be cleared for the Nuclear Lexiscan test. After that, a pacemaker could be installed to regulate the flow of blood. The next scenario would be open heart surgery. I was way too young for all those medical procedures, but I knew heart disease was the #1 killer of women. I wanted to live.

What causes heart damage?
Smoking – I have never smoked, not even during the 70s in college when everyone was smoking pot. I wanted to retain all my brain cells.

Alcohol – I lamented my proclivity to prefer wine over workouts. Four days ago, I changed to sparkling water in a wine glass.

Diet – More veggies for me.

Exercise – I had exercised by carrying emotional baggage. That will end, and now I have a set schedule to exercise every day.

Age and Heredity – Thanks, Dad and Mom! However, I’ve enjoyed 69 splendid years.

Stress – What, me worry? It’s been a stressful year. We moved in January, I tore ligaments in my leg in February, performed a writing webinar on Zoom in March, had a brain MRI for acute headaches in April, and appeared twice in District Court in May to appeal a cruel and undeserved Protection Order against me. The judge terminated the order, but the ordeal emotionally broke my heart. The writing workshop in Mexico was in June. All those issues contributed to copious quantities of stress.


This week, I’ve had fun clearing my calendar, postponing appointments, and canceling workshops, but I intend to appear in a live comedy show for a women’s conference in October. Until then, my day will focus on staying alive and starting a (short) walking routine. My goal is to walk away from painful, stressful situations and walk toward better health. I have a broken heart. I might not be able to mend it, but I can tend it.

Can Midlife Marriage Survive a Prolapsed Bladder?

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“It’s a good thing we aren’t dating in our twenties now,” my husband mused as I stood traumatized in the hospital room while urine sprayed wildly across the floor. “This could cause a young, single guy to escape to a hermit’s cave far away in the wilderness.”

He was trying to make me laugh, and the remark eased my grief. I was almost 50 years old and recuperating from a medical procedure to fix my collapsed bladder. (Stress incontinence is another challenging physical dilemma for midlife women.) The catheter remained attached to my body, but the end had slipped from the collection bag and the errant tube was squirting around the room. I had faint memories of my toddler son doing the same action several decades earlier; however, he laughed, and I did not.

“Why me?” I wailed in total humiliation as I grabbed for the offensive hose and shoved it into the bag. “I’m going to take a shower and might drown myself.” “I’m sure you’ll do the same for me someday,” he said as he reached for some towels and proceeded to clean the mess. “Could you get a fun nurse’s costume?” I laughed and asked him to go find some chocolate and wine. “You probably shouldn’t have any alcohol,” he warned. “You’re on some strong medications that don’t mix well with wine.”

“The party is over,” I answered. “I only agreed to this operation because I was tired of wetting my pants whenever I laughed. Now I can’t have a glass of wine and enjoy some good jokes.” “Should I get some adult diapers, too?” We both laughed. That mutual reaction is what we call making the most of midlife marriage.

A solid marriage makes it easier to handle all the grief

Marriage at midlife doesn’t guarantee total bliss, but we’ve discovered that laughter is better than breaking something, trying drugs, or running away to join a chanting group in India. Every morning I read online reports of treachery, debauchery, and ghastly evilness, and that’s only from the local garden club. A solid marriage makes it easier to handle all the grief, angst, and pure nastiness swirling around us. At the end of the day, we escape all the noise, sit together, and talk about life. And, now I can laugh out loud without wetting my pants.

Middle-aged people know marriage can be the reason they’re happy or miserable. Here are a few suggestions for causing a midlife relationship to endure.

Have a sense of humor

I don’t recommend having bladder problems with someone who can’t make or take a joke. At midlife, many of us encounter a variety of health issues that can strain relationships as our bodies start to betray us. Bladder prolapse ranks high on the list of unpleasant realities. Through it all, try to keep laughing and create a game of listing all the reasons why “It Could Be Worse.” Remember the quote from humorist Erma Bombeck, “He Who Laughs, Lasts.”

Accept the naked truth

At midlife, most of us don’t look as good naked as we did in our twenties. Gravity and sunlight can be punitive, and it doesn’t matter how hard we work out, eat salads, go under the knife, and consume multiple vitamins, we often look and feel older. But, that’s okay because we are! Maybe someday all the anti-ageing warnings in advertising will stop shaming us for getting older and still being alive. The focus should become pro-ageing celebrations. We probably won’t wear a bikini this July, but we’re delighted to enjoy another summer.

It’s party time in the empty nest

After the last child moves away, many middle-aged couples realize they haven’t been alone together in years. The new empty nest is the perfect place and time to reconnect without catering to children. Finally, you can enjoy a candlelit dinner for two and then sleep naked with the bedroom door unlocked. Try that tonight.

Honor and encourage individual activities

I enjoy taking trips to visit friends, see favorite places, or attend writing conferences. My husband encourages me to have fun, and I do the same for him.

Schedule play dates together

Don’t be too busy to enjoy time with each other and find activities you enjoy. We golf together, even though he’s much better than I am, and he joins me for concerts and plays when he’d rather be golfing. Our only standing rule is to avoid crabby people.

Keep the music playing

We usually end the day on the patio with an adult beverage and listen to our favorite playlists. Music enhances the memories, and we continue to update our favorite songs.

Finally, to make the most of midlife marriage and beyond, watch older couples together. You’ll see many who don’t communicate and others who look bitter. Don’t become those people. Other couples look, talk, and dress alike. Don’t become those, either. Choose to emulate the ones holding hands, making regular eye contact, and enjoying public displays of affection. Assume they’re married to each other. Midlife marriage can be the best time of life.

 

 

 

Love Potions and Dental Floss

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The National Retail Federation predicts more than $20 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  FOR MIDDLE-AGED COUPLES 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 the late Irene Ryan who was only 63 when she played the role of Granny Clampett in the television series Beverly Hillbillies and prefer the strong image of 65-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 81 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.