Elaine Ambrose

Bestselling Author, Ventriloquist, & Humorist

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Midlife Cabernet: Go Hang a Banana

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wine hook

The world is smoldering toward catastrophic self-destruction, so it’s only sensible that I take a brief moment of clarity to offer this lovely tidbit of advice before the final tragic calamity ignites the end of civilization. If you want to appreciate form and function, escape chaos and crisis, and experience inner peace, you should hang a banana.

I’ve survived more than half a century on this magnificent planet and only yesterday purchased a banana holder. This is not just any ordinary device; it’s a 3-piece banana hook with fruit basket! And, it came with illustrated instructions! Heaven forbid a confused consumer would tote it home and not know how to assemble the complicated design.

“Help me, Walter. Does the bowl go over or under the hook?”

“Lemme study the picture on the box, Marge. I hope this contraption came with directions.”

The 3-piece banana hook wasn’t on my Costco list, but who could resist? I wanted it. On my way to the back of the store to get my quarterly supply of 50 rolls of toilet paper, I noticed the box on the end of the aisle. The photo displayed ripe, firm bananas perfectly poised over a bowl of tempting green apples supported and enhanced with a gleaming silver hook and coordinated basket. I spontaneously added it to the cart, along with the tub of chocolate-covered almonds (also not on the list.)

I balanced my new treasures with the massive supply of toilet paper, a calf-sized pack of paper towels, and a year’s supply of detergent while I maneuvered my way through the aisles, stopping periodically to sample the bland but free samples of food. I avoided the book section because I have been known to spend hours reading through selections while family-reunion-size boxes of frozen appetizers melt in the aisle.

After paying the zombie checkout guy, I toured the vast parking lot looking for my car. I finally resorted to clicking my key alarm and eventually found it. I scurried home to assemble my new banana holder and proudly placed it on the kitchen counter. I carefully hung my bananas at the angle shown in the photograph. They seemed to be happy and perky in their appropriate position. Today, I’ll visit the local farmer’s market and buy some green apples.

For a brief but delightful moment in time, I won’t watch or read the news, and I won’t worry about all the crap happening throughout the world. Instead, I’ll make a cup of tea in the morning and open a bottle of wine in the afternoon and stare at my banana holder. That’s about all I can control right now. And if other stressed people come to my door, I’ll welcome them inside and we will gaze at the wonderful invention and smile at the balance, order, and symmetry of the simple design. Then, only after we feel at peace, we’ll eat the bananas, apples and chocolate almonds, open another bottle of wine, and sing songs of courage and glory. All will be well, thanks to my new banana hook. With a fruit basket.

 

 

 

 

 

Midlife Cabernet: Being Awesome Behind the Waste Basket

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Last week I attended the BlogHer ’14 Conference in San Jose with several thousand other women and a few brave men. For most of the conference, my photograph was hidden behind a waste basket in the exposition hall. It was the last photo. Down near the floor. No one in the world was older.

But at the next booth, I held a sign that proclaimed, “I’m awesome!” These two wildly opposite comparisons describe my experience at the conference. Here’s what my aging brain can remember of the event.

The Great Swagging Expo Hall

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In the expo hall, several vendors offered ideas and solutions to motivate bloggers to achieve their goals. One booth promoted the Timeline Project which is a software application that helps users visualize and navigate events on a timeline. We were asked to write a specific goal and then our photos were pinned to the wall according to age group. My age group didn’t exist because I’m so old, so my photo was tacked to the bottom of the wall behind a waste basket.

From there I watched the high-heeled youth prance by, oblivious to the fact that I existed and could use a hand to get up. Many of them were scampering to see one of the Kardashians, so I wisely chose to stay behind on the wall. The vendors distributed bags of free swag, and the World’s Cutest Granddaughter loves her new game and toys.

Meeting Pen Pal Friends in Person

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I share blogs with several groups of middle-aged women, and through their stories I knew them before I met them. “I recognize your face!” was a regular comment before the spontaneous hug. One of my new best friends is Sharon Hodor Greenthal, the co-founder of Midlife Boulevard and The Women of Midlife. We’re talking about organizing a retreat for our age group. I’ll bring the appropriate pin-up wall.

Speakers Who Made Me Cry

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Arianna Huffington was delightful with her pithy quotes, but I felt conflicted because bloggers aren’t paid on Huffington Post. The exposure is great but doesn’t pay the mortgage. My favorite speakers were the bloggers who gave humorous, passionate, or emotional accounts of their stories. I’m awed by Jenny Lawson, author of Let’s Pretend This Never Happened, the twelve bloggers who were named the Voices of the Year, and the entire midlife blogging group. My favorite workshop taught me about Social Media Optimization, so now I know how to embed a widget on my blog. Ha!  But I’m still confused about Twitter Analytics because that sounds like a diagnosis for a nervous condition.

Know a Rev from a Dr

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The closing party featured RUN DMC with Rev. Run. I honestly had no clue who he was and thought he was Dr. Dre. My younger, more hip friends quickly corrected me. My bad. But the music was great and I ate a McDonald’s hamburger for the first time in 30 years. I still prefer wine and chocolate.

Feeling High

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On the flight home, I gazed at the Cascade Mountains and reflected on the highs and lows of the conference. In a perfect world, I could go back 30 years and write a blog instead of working in corporate communications. But, I’m tumbling down the far side of fifty and damn fortunate to have enjoyed such an abundant life. And, I didn’t need to go home to change diapers or return to full-time work. Middle-age is a great time of life, and I choose to get out from behind the waste basket and savor every day I have left. Because, as I learned at BlogHer/14, I’m awesome.

The Joy of Cooking (Twice a Month)

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image           elaine cooking school

Because I like to eat, I like to cook. But I’m older, wiser, and my children are grown, so I only touch a pan once or twice a week. And during the summer months when Studley grills outside, I can go an entire month without opening a single cookbook. That’s just another advantage of tumbling down the far side of fifty without a spatula.

When my children were small and I worked full-time, I would rush home and slap together a concoction that contained at least two of the four food groups. Chipped beef on toast was my gourmet specialty. To add fruit and a vegetable, I’d smear strawberry jam on celery. Now my kids bemoan the fact that after they grew up and moved away in search of healthy food, I quit my job and enrolled in cooking classes. If I want my grown children to come for a visit, I call and say I’m making curried prime rib or authentic chicken parmesan. They’re at the door before I turn off the phone.

Years ago I grabbed an apron and joined a cooking tour of Italy through an organization called A Cook’s Tour. The trip featured hands-on lessons with professional Italian chefs. Best of all, we ate our sumptuous meals outside on long tables under flowering trees in the orchard. Of course, the meals included abundant selections of wines. That’s where I fell in love with Amarone – not an Italian lover but a vibrant red wine that captured my breath and my heart.

At the cooking school, I learned to make ravioli and cappelletti (little hats) with chefs Antonia Montrucoli and Giulianna at the the Villa Serego Alighieri near Verona. The property was surrounded by vineyards, olive trees, and fruit orchards and has been in the family of the great Italian poet Dante Alighieri (Dante’s Inferno) since the year 1353. I truly considered losing my passport and staying there as an apprentice chef and troubadour.

There are two secrets to preparing magnificent Italian food: fresh local ingredients and time. Start with extra-virgin, first cold-pressed olive oil from the friendly neighbor. Then add juicy tomatoes, fresh basil, garlic, onions, and green and red peppers from the garden. Keep a selection of fine cheeses in the cooler and bowls of melons and lemons on the counter. Be sure to open some wine while you assemble the ingredients. I love cooking with wine, and sometimes I add it to the sauce.

As the red sauce (NOT spaghetti sauce) simmers and the flavors blend, you must wait for the magic to happen. This could take hours because you can’t rush an exquisite Italian sauce. This gives you time to sip wine, bake a loaf of crusty bread, and arrange olives and assorted cheeses on a platter. Then enjoy a festive meal with friends and celebrate buen appetito!

I cooked chicken parmesan this week, so I’m off duty for awhile. Studley and I eat salads during the week and add some protein. It’s just the two of us, so we keep it easy. It’s truly the joy of cooking made simple. And if I ever return to Italy, I’ll find the Villa Serego Allighieri and raise a glass of Amarone to pay my respects to Dante. His Inferno is part of his most famous work, Divine Comedy. The title sounds like the recipe for my life.

 

My Guest Blog on The Writer Revived

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http://www.thewriterrevived.com/2014/07/the-summer-series-elaine-ambrose.html

 

Elizabeth Flora Ross is my new best friend.

The Summer Series – Elaine Ambrose
As I was approaching my Summer Series this year, I decided to do something a little different. In addition to inviting specific writers (I always have some in mind), I put out a call via social media to see who might be interested in participating. I was amazed and humbled to find myself inundated with emails. I filled my calendar in the blink of an eye, and sheepishly had to turn people away.

Now I get to be introduced to great new writers, too! The purpose of this series when I launched it was twofold: to take a break from writing during a season of the year when I have less time, and to offer fresh voices and perspectives in this space. It has been extremely well received. And this year, I am loving it even more because by opening up to submissions, I have been exposed to writers and work I might not otherwise have had the pleasure of reading.

My guest today was one of the many talented writers who responded to my call for submissions. We connected through the Women of Midlife (I cannot tell you how happy I am I found that awesome group on Facebook). Elaine Ambrose is an author, syndicated blogger, and publisher from Eagle, Idaho. Her latest book, Midlife Cabernet, won the 2014 Silver Medal for Humor from the Independent Publisher Book Awards program and received a 4-Star review from ForeWord Reviews. Preview her books, writer’s retreats, and blogs on her website.

The Seven Dwarfs of Midlife

Some of our darkest psychological issues could be blamed on the horrifying fairy tales of our youth. A wolf ate grandma. Singing mice pushed a poor girl into a pumpkin driven by strangers. A little boy was locked in an oven for nibbling on a candy house. It’s no wonder we overeat and drink so we can smother those early memories of pain and fear!

Snow White is the fairy tale most likely to cause the need for lifelong counseling: You’re so beautiful that your mother wants to kill you and eat your liver, so you run away to live with seven tiny men. Serious medication/chocolate/wine is required to deal with such a story.

The Brothers Grimm wrote Snow White in 1812 and updated it in 1854 to soften some of the more gruesome details. In the original version, the evil mother tries three times but fails to murder her pretty daughter Snow White and then demands that a huntsman kill the little girl and bring back her lungs and liver as proof of her death. The huntsman instead slaughters a wild boar and takes the organs back to the queen who orders the cook to prepare them for her to eat. And you thought Hunger Games was violent.

After surviving the hunter, the girl runs into the forest and finds a tiny cottage belonging to the dwarfs. They agree to let her stay if she will “keep house, cook, make beds, wash, sew, and knit, and keep everything clean and orderly.” Really, she should have returned to the castle, thrown the wicked queen and the seven dwarfs into the sea, and then ordered the cook to make her a chocolate cake and serve it with a bold Cabernet.

In 1937, Walt Disney made the story into the first full length cartoon, and he added a few changes to again soften the horror. The mother became the stepmother Queen who only tried once, not three times, to kill Snow White. Disney changed the ending so that the evil woman fell over a cliff instead of keeping Grimms’ account of her dancing to death in scalding iron shoes. Lovely improvement, Walt.

In our innocent youth, we never questioned why the mirror talked back when the wicked woman asks, “Who is the fairest one of all?” But then, we also didn’t question the gruesome act of murdering a child or why the lovely and fairest Snow White moved into a home with seven little men. Or why every helpless Disney female needed a handsome prince to save her. But, that was long ago, before we matured, scoffed at such nonsense, and created our own characters to imitate, appropriately named “The Seven Dwarfs of Midlife.” Here are a few of my middle-aged, imaginary friends:

DOC. For years, we have coddled children, spouses, wandering neighbor kids, aging parents, and anyone at work who needed a bandage. Now, it’s time to take care of ourselves and prescribe home remedies that include naps, good books, laughter with friends, chocolate, and good wine.

HAPPY. Try to laugh every day, and aim to enjoy a weekly belly laugh that makes your eyes water, your sides hurt, and could cause you to wet your pants and snort liquid from your nose. Now, that’s fun!

SNEEZY. Have you noticed that suddenly you’re allergic to crowds, dust mites, and dirty diapers? Avoid these irritants, at all costs.

DOPEY. During and after menopause, our brain chooses to take sporadic vacations, so we often discover that we can’t remember the ingredients for a BLT. Just relax and wait for it to return.

GRUMPY. I see crabby people. They’re everywhere. Maybe they exist for me to entertain, so I’ll do my best to force them to smile. If that doesn’t work, they can go away and live in the forest with the wolf and the witch.

BASHFUL. The only time I’m timid is when I endure a mammogram, a colonoscopy, or a pap smear. Not even my bravest attitude can alter the trepidation I feel when someone manipulates my private parts, mutters, and writes down an intricate diagnosis. Depending upon the outcome, I then become either Grumpy or Happy.

SLEEPY. Midlife gives us a new appreciation for an afternoon nap. We try not to snooze when we’re driving or attending an important meeting, therefore we don’t schedule such activities between noon and dinner time.

Wilhelm and Jacob, the intrepid duo of the Brothers Grimm, wrote or revised more than 200 folk tales 160 years ago. The stories endure and adapt in various versions, much like middle-aged women. To celebrate my older, wiser face, I recently taped a note onto my mirror: “Hot Damn, Gorgeous! You’re going to live happily ever after!”

“Hot Damn” is right! I love it! And I really like your imaginary friends, Elaine.

Midlife Cabernet: From Harley-Davidsons to Hostess Ding Dongs

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elaine harley trialIn a former life, I rode a Harley-Davidson motorcycle, drank gallons of cold beer, ate greasy chicken wings, and made love at noon in a mountain meadow. Now I drive an SUV, sip laxative tea, and snack on protein bars. Passion is pleasurable, as long as the lights are low and the experience requires no more than three positions. I’m in my transitional phase from badass to bad back.

Going through the change means more than searching for quarters in the couch. Middle-age has the power to turn us from free-spirited, sex kittens into snoozing old cats who occasionally perk up for a romp between the moisture-wicking sheets. With erratic eruptions of body heat so intense that it melts the polish off of our hairy toes, we’re truly hot women, but in a different way.

Dealing with night sweats, insomnia, forgetfulness, and irritable bowel system are nature’s way of saying, “Park the motorcycle, Honey. Find a comfortable chair, preferably in a cold meat locker. If your lover is a Real Man, he’ll wear a winter coat and join you. And if he brings a plate of Hostess Ding Dongs, that man is a keeper.”

Eventually the hot flashes diminish in intensity until you feel confident enough to attend dinner parties again. But then an entirely new assortment of maladies attacks your aging mind and body. You’ll graze the buffet table like a famished hog, bend over to pick up a dropped cheese ball, and fart so loud that the jazz band stops playing. Then you’ll burst into tears and lock yourself in the bathroom where you’ll spend an hour plucking black hairs from your chin.

There’s no need to remain in the bathroom because midlife also brings constipation so profound that it should be studied by civil engineers. “Look at this one, Mac. She could stop a log jam in the Mississippi River during a spring flood.”

Memory loss is another irritating condition of getting older. When I started to forget things, such as the names of my children, I developed some techniques to improve my memory skills. Here is the best idea I can remember: Keep your brain active by practicing word and math games. My favorite exercise is to realize that a 50 percent off sale on shoes means I can get two pairs for the price of one. Or, twenty for the price of ten! See how math and memory can be fun!

We’re getting older because we didn’t die young. Grab your bifocals, if necessary, and look on the bright side. If you survive midlife, you can do anything. Your kids are grown so you don’t need to clean up projectile vomiting or deal with head lice. And you don’t need to bake forty dozen cupcakes for the school carnival and then buy them back again. And take the money you once spent on tampons and buy Ding Dongs and wine instead. Best of all, you can sleep naked with the bedroom door open. The Harley-Davidson may be gone, but the free and feisty woman lives to seize another day.