Elaine Ambrose

Bestselling Author, Ventriloquist, & Humorist

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The 6 Benefits of Getting Married at Midlife

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(This blog was featured on The Huffington Post Fifty on March 6, 2015.)

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If you’re over 50 and planning your wedding, here’s a nugget of advice: For a unique musician, consider a little one-eyed Greek playing a goat bladder. That worked for us.

Studley and I met after being divorced from marriages that had lasted more than 22 years. We weren’t proud of those failures, but we were willing to take another chance on love and life. Based upon our successful experience, here are some advantages of midlife marriage:

1. There is no pressure to have the “perfect wedding.” We’ve all attended lavish ceremonies that ended before the thank you notes were sent. At our age, we’re celebrating the fact that someone else wants to say “I do” and we prefer something non-traditional. With an open bar.

2. There aren’t any in-law issues. Three of our four parents had passed away and my sweet mother suffered from dementia. She didn’t remember his name … or mine.

3. Make your own arrangements and pay the expenses. One of my favorite movies isMama Mia but the quaint little Greek church shown in the movie isn’t available for weddings. Besides, I would have fallen off the narrow path leading to the church. So we used frequent flyer miles and a timeshare to get married at the quaint Anezina Village Hotel on the Greek island of Paros.

4. Skip the wedding planner. Our simple accommodations were owned by a jolly Greek woman named Maria and her adult son Stavros. She adopted us when we arrived and planned an authentic, Ancient Greek wedding complete with borrowed togas, head wreaths of laurel vines, and a Greek Orthodox priest who couldn’t speak English. The ceremony took place outside a chapel on a hill overlooking the Mediterranean Sea. Priceless.

5. Skip the buffet line. Our hostess cooked an amazing meal to celebrate the wedding and invited all the other guests who were staying at the resort. Music was provided by a shy man pounding on a drum and the little one-eyed Greek who played a goat bladder. A few cases of wine completed the festivities, and we all danced until dawn.

6. Look beyond the body. At midlife, we have some wrinkles, age spots, receding hairlines, and flabby guts despite hundreds of sit-ups. But true love comes from within, in that deep, dark recess of the heart and mind that says “Take another chance. This time it will work.”

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Someday we’ll return to Paros and hike to the chapel overlooking the sea. We’ll celebrate another festive anniversary, with or without the goat bladder music.

If the Shoe Fits, Celebrate

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Attention Shoe Manufacturers: Middle-age women have the resources and desire to purchase fashionable, comfortable shoes. Why don’t you make any?

I’m attending a conference at the Gaylord Opryland Hotel and Resort in Nashville, Tennessee. This resort is so huge that my room is a zip code away from the conference center. I needed to drop little packets of breath mints to trace the way back. Such an ordeal requires shoes that are practical as well as pretty. Good luck with that.

While packing for the trip, I had no problem choosing the outfits, coordinating accessories, and mandatory bags of trail mix to fool myself into thinking I would eat healthy on the trip. (Those little bags have at least 100 chocolate M&M candies.) However, selecting the appropriate shoes gave me heartburn on top of the candy.

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The open-toed pair with the 3-inch heels looked elegant and classy; the perfect choice for my sophisticated suit. But I knew they were 2-hour shoes for a 12-hour work day, and I couldn’t tolerate that much pain. My other choice was my favorite Joseph Seibel slip-ons. This comfortable pair could go 18 hours, but the flat, wedged heel was borderline ready for the retirement home. After two minutes of intense contemplation, the heels were returned to the closet. Comfort won.

I’ve always assumed shoes were made to cover the feet and to help people scamper over rocks, bugs, and dog poop. Now we’ve evolved into this shoe-worshiping cult where women trade the mortgage and their first-born child for a pair of Christian Louboutin red-soled shoes, and doting grandmas buy expensive baby shoes for a new grandbaby who will wear them once and then wonder 18 years later how to pay for college.

And women can’t strut away with all the blame. Men are paying $560 for a pair of Gucci hi-top sneakers, and Lucchese offers a pair of alligator belly cowboy boots for $10,513. The guy who wears those boots will never come within 100 miles of a real rodeo. And if he did, the true cowboys with manure on their boots and callouses on their hands would throw him into the water trough and barter the boots for beer.

Fancy, high-heeled, pointed-toed shoes are designed for young people who don’t walk. They just stand around and look fetching. If I need to change from my fuzzy slippers to anything with a sole, it’s because I have places to go. My feet are not pointed so why should I cram a rectangle foot into a triangle? My small feet do their best to support my mature frame, so why should I teeter on a teeny heel and hope I didn’t fall down and roll my ankle? My wine budget cut into my spending money so why should I pay $300 for two inches of leather that will be out of style in six months?

Insert the best word: As middle-age women (1) age, (2) ripen, (3) no longer give a damn, we have the bold ability to say (1) don’t judge my flip flops, (2) kiss my bunion, (3) the only good stiletto is one used as a weapon. We scoff at the young fashionistas skittering about on 6-inch heels, knowing someday they’ll end up at the bottom of the stairs with a broken heel and a wounded ego. Been there, done that.

So, it’s with a final plea that I implore the shoe industry to cobble some creative, cute, and comfy shoes for us. We’ll buy them. And if you throw in trail mix with M&Ms, we’ll get two pairs.

 

 

 

10 Ways to Add Humor to a Serious Workplace

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(This post was featured on the Huffington Post Comedy Page, March 2, 2015)

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Jennifer was a customer service representative for a large technology firm. Though her dreams and aspirations never included sitting in a padded cubicle listening to rude customers, that’s what she did for eight hours a day. Usually, the problems were related to consumer ignorance, and she would patiently instruct them to put in a battery or plug the device into an electrical outlet. To keep her sanity, she used a collection of finger puppets on her desk and pretended the callers were puppets. Then she could see and talk to the clown or the pig or the snooty lady bouncing on her finger. She used humor to survive.

From Shakespeare to the comic strip character Dilbert, ordinary characters rely on comedy to endure the struggles of life and death. As Mercutio lies dying in the tragedy of Romeo and Juliet his last words are, “A plague on both your houses! They have made worm’s meat of me!” Then he laughs and dies. That’s a morbidly funny line. Worm’s meat? Would that really be a man’s last thought? Shakespeare is playing with the audience so the tragedy won’t be too horrific.

In the passionate and wildly popular Broadway musical Les Miserables, we’re exhausted as we witness the endless pain and terrible turmoil of characters who just want to live one more day to fulfill their destiny. Then just before we sink into a deep depression, the drunken innkeeper and his wife burst onto the stage with a hilarious rendition of “Master of the House.” The audience cheers with gratitude for the temporary emotional reprieve.

In a favorite Dilbert cartoon, the intern Asok is killed and reincarnated as a candy bar. Office workers can relate to Asok, but the episode made us laugh anyway. Why? We’re amused because nothing diffuses daily drama like a boisterous belly laugh. Studies prove laughter can reduce stress, increase creativity and lessen tensions. Happy people are healthier than crabby people, and they’re a lot more fun to be around. Jovial people can tackle problems with a positive attitude while pessimistic whiners only take up space while wasting time and life by drafting hate mail and threatening law suits.

Just in case you meet or work with nasty people who only exist to bring pain and suffering to the world, here are some suggestions for using humor to diffuse stressful situations.

1. Before going to a serious meeting, walk by an outside playground and listen to the laughter of the children. Try to recapture that exuberant feeling of having fun. You don’t have to install a swing set in your office to remember how it feels to swing high and almost touch the clouds.

2. Cheerfully empathize with people who drive you crazy. Maybe the coworker who criticizes your work has an intolerable life at home or is caring for a sick child. That would explain his or her irritating behavior. Or, the coworker could just be truly obnoxious and you should stay away from them as much as possible.

3. If you’re in a tense meeting and tempers are flaring, stand up and wave a white flag. Threaten to send everyone to “time out” if they can’t get along. Your boss may not approve of your actions, but it could lighten the mood.

4. If you’re unfortunate enough to be placed on a rigid committee that can’t find consensus on anything, carry a jester’s hat in your briefcase. As emotions escalate and you’d rather break for lunch, just don the hat and announce that you are Feste the Fool of Shakepeare’s Twelfth Night. Dramatically sing his immortal line: “Come away, come away death!” You’ll all be laughing your way through the lunch line.

5. If you’re cursed enough to be deemed in charge of the office holiday party, know in advance that you cannot please everyone and that you are doomed to failure. Just emulate the television show Seinfeld. During one politically correct episode, they organized a “Festivus for the Rest of Us” party where they celebrated nothing. It worked.

6. Share the joy by driving to work wearing a clown nose. At the stoplight, look over and smile at the people in the next car. You’ll brighten their day because they’ll laugh on their way to work, or else they’ll report you to the police. That’s OK because the noses come off quickly.

7. Employ popular tricks and tactics that you use with your family to improve negative situations at work. If your assistant gets an important report done on time, give him an extra-long lunch hour. Legal bribery works wonders, and you’re both happier.

8. Never forget that there are people who want you to be miserable. They may want your job or your car or your spouse. They will publicly criticize you and make your life miserable. Just laugh at the situation and be thankful the person isn’t your parent. However, if it is your parent, get some professional therapy.

9. Never forget that there are people who want you to be happy. You should belong to some social, professional or civic organizations where you can mingle with supportive people who share your values, skills and aspirations. Just ignore Groucho Marx’s famous comment that he would never belong to a club that would have him as a member.

10. Silence is goal-oriented. While it can be fun to slay the competition with a well-placed witticism, sometimes it’s best to pick your battles, remain silent and allow the adversary to publicly prove that she’s a fool. If she goes into a tirade, concentrate on her left ear and imagine it’s a donkey’s ear. You will look cool, calm and collected while she self-destructs faster than the Wicked Witch of the West. You can make your sly comments after you’re promoted.

The best advice is to know that if you’re wallowing with the pigs, get out of the sty. You don’t have to tolerate uncomfortable, hostile or abusive treatment, and if you’re not occasionally laughing at work, you can’t work. Consider a department change or pursue educational opportunities for advancement. If you’re going to live to be 100, you might as well enjoy the journey. And don’t forget to pack your sense of humor.

Matriarch in the Making

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(My guest blog is from funny lady and sassy cartoonist Amy Sherman, creator of Kranky Kitty (www.krankykitty.biz). We met last year at the Erma Bombeck Writers’ Workshop and performed for the stand-up comedy night program. She makes me laugh.)

Sometimes a promotion is well-l­earned and welcomed. But sometimes the promotion comes without perks, only pity. Some promotions are best avoided as long as physically possible.

When a parent crosses the bridge to whatever-­the-­hell is over there, the natural conclusion is the offspring are next in line. Makes total sense. But when my number is the “next up” by this natural order of things, it is a tad unsettling. Disturbing, even. I’m not into natural. I dye my hair. I bleach my teeth. I Photoshop every picture I take before posting to any public venue. So the “natural” order of things can stuff it!

I feel lucky enough to have made it past age fifty, closing in on sixty. I don’t feel my age. Nobody does, with any luck. My mental age is about 35-­40 years younger. And I like it that way. Maturity can mean many things. I choose to remain immature as long as society will allow, before having me certified and caged.

So when the previous generation related by blood, or marriage, moves on to the next plane, I don’t need anyone reminding me of my place in line. Feel free to cut in front. Anytime. Reminders can be very subtle, or hit you over the head like a death scythe. When your kids stop giving you shit and start treating you with a tender respect, I say “No!” Stop being nice. You’re scaring me. And I don’t scare easily. Until now.

When I forget something inane, I don’t need to see the secretive glances and eye connections implying, “It’s starting….” or “She’s slipping.” Sometimes, people simply forget shit. It isn’t a call to arms for an Alzheimer’s intervention. I haven’t had a good brain for recollecting facts or movie plots since high school. Unless it was a personal attack or affront. I remember almost every mean thing that was ever said or done to me. So I WILL remember these “concerned” looks and nods as my loved ones over­analyze every trip I make.

Just because my bowel movements are front and center in the planning, or execution of my daily routine, doesn’t mean I am sliding towards home, people. And when I say things like, “this world is going to hell in a hand basket,” don’t assume I’m a FOX News fan. Age does offer some perspective. Some things were better in the past, but I never want to live in it.

I am well aware of my place in line and I don’t need any of you young whippersnappers eyeballing me like you know it. You’d best hope I hang in there as long as possible, because if there is one thing I am sure of, you will be next. So show a little respect and don’t add to the notion that each generation must pass on in due order. The only thing I plan to pass on is another colonoscopy. What’s the point? I’m almost dead anyway.

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Friend Amy on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/KrankyKitty

The Joys of Traveling with Your Children (after age 30)

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If given the choice between traveling with small children and having a root canal, I’d be at the dentist office sucking laughing gas before noon. I adore kids but the logistics of getting them more than 100 miles is too much to endure unless they can be shipped like golf clubs or crated like pets.

After my baby filled his diapers with an adult-strength load during takeoff on a three-hour flight, I finally realized there was no reason to ever travel with youngsters. At least not in the same airplane.

Children under five years old don’t know what a vacation is, so tell them that the city park is just like Disneyland except without grinning pirates shooting guns, drinking booze, and chasing women on the Pirates of the Caribbean ride. Better yet, turn on the sprinklers in the backyard, sit down with a glass of wine, and watch the little darlings giggle and wiggle until they’re tired enough for a nap. Then invite your hubby to swill some whiskey and chase you around the yard. Yo ho ho! Everyone will be happy and you’ll save thousands of dollars. This is a win-win situation.

Traveling with little children requires parents to lie in order to survive the ordeal. Here are a few of my desperate but necessary distortions of the truth I coughed up while attempting to orchestrate the illusive perfect family vacation when my kids were under ten years old.

Driving in rush-hour traffic near Disneyland.

“Of course, it’s okay to pee into a potato chip can, Honey, because it’s against the law to get off the freeways in Los Angeles.”

Trapped at the airport during another flight delay.

“Please stop whining and you can have a new puppy/pony/playhouse if we get home before you’re in high school.”

After four hours of driving through a desolate desert.

“Stop hitting your brother/sister or I will park this car right now and we’ll live off the land and eat scorpions until you can learn to behave.”

After two hours of “Are we there yet?” and “How much longer?”

“Sorry, kids. Mommy is going away for a while.” Then I would pull over, stop, and play dead. Worked every time.

I still mutter like a curmudgeon when I see young parents in airports juggling a small mountain of luggage that includes diapers, food, enormous strollers, DVD players, toys, and clothes that could stock a child care center. My ancestors walked for months to Idaho along the Oregon Trail, and their kids and clothes were bathed once a week in the river, air-dried on a log, and stored in the wagon for the day’s journey. They survived just fine.

Imagine if any pioneer child had complained:

“Pa, the wagon’s too bumpy!”

“Hush, Child, and go trap a rabbit, skin it, and help your Ma make dinner. We’re walking ten miles tomorrow.”

The first time I saw the movie The Sound of Music I yelled “Fraud!” at the end as the family climbed over the Alps singing in perfect harmony in clean clothes. When my kids were little, we couldn’t walk from the house to the car without someone falling headfirst into a mud puddle. And forget about taking a hike together. Any incline more than two inches would cause howls of dismay with repeated pleas to be carried. And that’s when they were teenagers! But, in deference to the movie, if evil Nazis were chasing us, we would manage to escape together, with or without matching lederhosen.

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One splendid advantage of getting older is that family trips are easier and less hectic. My kids are in their thirties and have their own children to handle, so I just need to pack yoga pants, t-shirts, and a wine opener. We recently traveled with 11 family members on a week-long vacation. I was overjoyed to play with the grandkids and sing songs and tell stories. Then came Happy Hour and their parents could take over. As they walked away with the boisterous brood, I overheard one of my adult children say, “Stop hitting your sister or we’ll go live in the desert and eat scorpions until you learn to behave.” My work here is done.

 

 

Forget Kinky – Bring me Coffee and Kisses

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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.

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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.