Elaine Ambrose

Bestselling Author, Ventriloquist, & Humorist

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aging

The Broad of Broadway

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Thirty years ago, I traveled to New York on business and managed to secure a single ticket to the hottest show on Broadway: Les Misérables. I was 36 and wore an elegant suit, four-inch heels, and carried a designer bag. People smiled at me. Last week, I traveled to New York for a writing conference and found a single ticket to the hottest show on Broadway: Hamilton. I wore prescription eyeglasses, hearing aids, a knee brace, sturdy shoes, and carried a utility bag with cough drops, tissue, eye drops, arthritis cream, and acid reflux meds. People ignored me. I’ve added new meaning to the term “old broad” on Broadway.

 

The musicals continue to lure me across the country from my home in Idaho. I’ve experienced more than a dozen Broadway shows, from Cats to Miss Saigon to The Phantom of the Opera. My favorites are Les Misérables (eight times) and The Lion King (three times.) My perfect musical would combine the two as a passionate story of freedom fighters dancing with lions. I would play the lead, Hannah of the Savannah.

I grew up in the village of Wendell, Idaho when the population was 1,000. Our tiny school didn’t have musical productions, but we had a choir, and I sang with gusto. I’ve seen the massive performance halls in city high schools, and I wonder, “what if?”

At my age, I’m tickled pink to be able to travel. The past few years have brought some unwanted consequences of living this long. I’ve worn glasses since I was ten years old, but now the lenses include adjustments for distance and for reading. I also tote a pair of computer eyeglasses and a pair of prescription sunglasses. My eyes water all the time, so I bring special drops that work for a few minutes. People think I’m crying, but I’m just sad because my eyes are watering.

Hearing aids are the most recent addition to my growing list of necessities. I had been reading lips for several years because I couldn’t hear conversations. I had the television volume turned so loud, the neighbors could hear the news from across the street. I finally relented to the hearing test because I often watch my darling grandkids, and I didn’t want to miss one sweet song or one frustrated tantrum. My hearing aids are so fancy, they can connect to my electronic devices through Bluetooth. I don’t know what that means.

My new malady worries me the most. I’ve developed osteoarthritis in my hands and there are ugly nodules on the first joints of my fingers. I’m having a procedure soon to cut off the biggest growths. As a writer, I need my fingers to type. I’ve been advised to try a dictation device and to change habits after half a century of typing. I also enjoy playing piano, and the hand doctor told me I would need to relearn how to play with flat fingers. And, so I will.

After 30 years of Broadway Musicals, I’m moving a bit slower but I still give my regards. Last year, I saw the musical Beautiful featuring the music of Carole King. It reminded me of a time so far away when I felt like a natural woman. Now I’m tired and often wonder if my family will still love me tomorrow. As long as I can feel the earth move under my feet, I’ll venture back to Broadway. The Great White Way, nicknamed in the late 1890s when the street was one of the first to be illuminated by electric lights, is some kind of wonderful.

 

 

 

 

The Dawning of the Age of Hilarious

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elaine party mask

I used to strut in my tailored suit with my leather briefcase into a posh coffee shop and order a $6 cup of hot liquid with a complicated name. I would smile confidently at the baristas, being careful not to rudely gasp at the multiple nose rings, disheveled man-buns and/or tattoos of marauding skeletons wallpapering the arms. “Watch and learn, Grasshopper,” I imagined whispering to the young androgynous person taking my money. “Someday, you, too, can buy some over-priced flavored water.”

My arrogant attitude was short-lived when my corporate job was eliminated and I was exiled, unwanted and forlorn like yesterday’s scuffed saddle shoes and toothless poodle skirts. Now I shuffle in my flannel pants and 10-year-old fuzzy slippers that multi-task as dust mops into my kitchen and pour a cup of budget coffee into a weathered cup with the words, “This Could be Wine.” My briefcase languishes in the corner, stuffed with nasal inhalers, reading glasses, a knee support wrap, alligator-skin moisturizers and discount coupons.

My goals once focused on orchestrating a successful corporate event with thousands of guests. Now I just hope to make it through the day without forgetting my address or putting my shirt on backwards. The insolent independence and corporate coiffure disappeared, and now I use old business cards to pick my teeth, and my messy pony tail resembles the hairstyles of the baristas at the coffee shop. Maybe I can have their job someday. They seem so happy.

Now I’m semi-retired, and my brain is weary. Years ago, it could instantly compute the outline for a pending business speech, the piano lesson recitals for my daughter, the football schedule for my son, the routine maintenance on the home furnace, and what outfit to wear to a charity gala with my husband. Now it seems content to putter along in second gear and only snaps to attention if I set my clothes on fire when I back up to a lighted burner on the stove. At least I still have those essential reflexes.

Being nimble is difficult because my growing stomach continues to block the sun. I can no longer use the excuse of having a baby because my youngest is 30. To flatten my stomach, I try crunches, planks and leg lifts, but after five minutes it’s so discouraging because nothing changes. I wake every morning filled with fear that my tummy has mysteriously doubled overnight and am afraid to peek until I detect no new noticeable abdominal protrusion. If it appears safe to roll out of bed without breaking through the floor boards, I gingerly stand up, pleased of that physical success.

There are advantages to being retired in an empty nest. I consider it a major accomplishment to be showered and dressed before noon, and it’s okay if my socks don’t match. It’s true that living past age 50 is our reward for not dying young.

I was a child when the bestselling song was “Age of Aquarius” by the 5th Dimension. The lyrics promised peace and harmony that was dawning at any minute. We’re still waiting. Now in the last third of life, I know my journey has been splendid as I’ve transformed through the ages from gregarious, to hilarious, to precarious, and now nefarious as my body resists all forms of vigorous activity. Perhaps it’s the natural order of things. I’ll sit with my coffee in the morning, read the newspaper and let the sun shine in (sing along) as I find peace with my age.

The Ugly Reality of Fake Beauty

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elaine photoshoppedelaine old 3

 

Two photographs of me taken 15 minutes apart illustrate the powerful allure of altered images. In one photograph, I look like a sagging, seasoned but sassy senior citizen. In the other one, I resemble the beautiful actress Katherine Zeta Jones. It’s amazing what a talented professional photographer can do with a new software program that rearranges facial features. I should wear a mask of the fabulous phony face, but then I couldn’t eat chocolate or drink wine, so I’ll stay with the contented crone.

Let’s face it: The dramatic but artificial improvement is shocking. The only similarities in the two photos are my jacket and jewelry. The rest is fake. Bogus. Counterfeit. But, damn, I would love to look like that.

With that face, doors would open, opportunities suddenly would appear, and strangers would buy me drinks in bars. With that face, I could walk into a fancy store and the salespeople would actually pay attention, a phenomenon I haven’t experienced in more than 20 years. I could probably get my own reality show on television, using no talent at all. That perfect pose would be published in magazine advertisements and on weight-loss product packaging. Imagine the unlimited scenarios.

Reality can be a bitch. If I used that photo on resumes or business cards, people would be overcome with disappointment when they met the real me. The manipulated image wouldn’t be accepted when I tried to use my driver’s license or passport. And, I’d lose the respect from friends and associates who know the authentic me. They would laugh in my normal face.

Full disclosure: I did use some of the photographs taken by the professional photographer. Some of the skin imperfections were erased and she caught my irreverent attitude, but the images still resemble me. The best one now is on the front page of my website. Don’t judge.

The ugly reality of fake beauty is that it removes authenticity. I never looked like the glamorous photo and I never will. And, that’s okay. Older women have earned their laugh lines, and their faces gain a certain grandeur as their jowls droop into their necks. Living long enough to sprout age spots and wrinkles is a privilege denied to many. Two good friends died recently, and they won’t have the opportunity to grow older and look more glorious with age. It may sound cliché, but for them, I’ll focus on inner beauty. I’ll also be grateful for another day to annoy or humor people. That’s real.

 

Loving Life at Age 20, 40, and 60

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cabin wine

My five boisterous, funny granddaughters recently came over to make candy trains, a Christmas tradition that I first shared with my children 32 years ago. After their mothers wrangled them together to go home, my 7-year-old granddaughter turned to me and said, “I love making candy trains. After you die, we’re going to keep on making them with our families.”

Talk about a buzz-kill for the holidays! The pure honesty of children can be brutal. I hadn’t thought about dying, but she did bring up an important part of life – it continues with or without us. After the kids and commotion were gone, I poured a glass of wine and sat to contemplate the stages of life.  For me so far, there are three favorite ages.

elaine age 18 u of I

The Tender Twenties

A popular website titled Addicted to Success [addicted2success.com] recently published an article about life lessons that people should know at age 20. The tips included advice on how to relax, suggestions for staying healthy, and a reminder that happiness comes from within. I don’t think these rules are just limited to age 20, but people need to start somewhere.

At 20, I was a junior in college majoring in journalism. My friends were getting married and moving into inexpensive apartments with donated futons, beanbag chairs, and bookshelves made from boards on cinder blocks. That didn’t appeal to me because I didn’t have a steady boyfriend and the world was wide open and waiting for my naive confidence and stubborn independence. After I graduated from college, I loaded all my possessions into my Pontiac Firebird and drove down the road, without a job or a care.

During my twenties, I worked for various companies, I met my future husband, and we had two children. I hurried into my thirties totally exhausted. I worked full-time, had two active kids, a busy marriage, and a home that sprouted clutter. Looking back, I wish I had worked part-time. Even though women at the time were told we could “have it all,” something had to give. My marriage didn’t survive.

elaine age 48 1999

The Fabulous Forties

A recent article in Psychology Today notes that middle-aged people often feel discontent and restless while needing to reassess life and its meaning. They are confronting important issues, including the inevitable physical changes in their bodies, a sense of mortality, and the upcoming empty nest as their children grow up and leave home. Marriages are tested as both partners experience various feelings and turmoil during this time of transition.

For me, age 40 was a time of renewed focus. My children were 10 and 13, so I didn’t have any more childcare issues. I quit my corporate job and became the associate editor of a regional magazine. I divorced and managed to pay the mortgage, fix leaking toilets, and attend the kid’s activities. One pivotal time came when water began pouring from the ceiling into the living room because the rain gutters were clogged. I stood outside on a ladder in the rain scooping out leaves until the gutters were free. I was cold and close to crying, but I finished the job. The experience was liberating.

elaine portrait look back

The Sassy Sixties

According to a recent TODAY survey of 1,500 adults, the 60s can be a positive time of life. Of the participants in the study in their 60s, 72 percent said they felt younger than their age. A majority of the respondents said their journey so far was better than they expected. The key factors to happiness after 60 include personal health and adequate finances. Throw in loving relationships with friends and/or partners and life can be rewarding and fulfilling. Careers are ending so there is more time to volunteer, travel, work on hobbies, and read books from start to finish.

Sometimes I marvel at how I got so old so fast, but really, it’s a wonderful time. My children are grown, married, working, and have delightful children of their own. I married a wonderful man, and we’re having the best time of our lives. We’re free to sleep naked with the bedroom door open, proving that simple pleasures can make life more interesting.

Studies indicate that people who live to age 60 have a likely chance of living until age 82. That gives me two more decades to focus on health, manage my finances, continue to laugh with my grandkids, and chase my husband around the house. I hope to tumble and fumble into my eighties with a sassy attitude of gratitude for an abundant life. And by then, my granddaughters can bring along their kids, and we’ll make some candy trains before I die.