#humor

Midlife Cabernet: Being Awesome Behind the Waste Basket

July 29, 2014 By Elaine Ambrose

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

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

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

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

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

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)

July 18, 2014 By Elaine Ambrose

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

July 14, 2014 By Elaine Ambrose

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

July 11, 2014 By Elaine Ambrose

In 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.

The Joy of Traveling with Your Children (Over 30)

June 26, 2014 By Elaine Ambrose

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 they didn’t transport a jungle gym, play-n-pac, IPad, a breast pump, or a bottle sterilizer. 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 or instigating a belching contest. 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.

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.

Give Life a Middle-Age Laugh, not a Middle Finger

June 19, 2014 By Elaine Ambrose

Because women over age 50 want yet another test, I’m offering the “Midlife Laughter Challenge” for those who still believe that life needs a middle-aged chuckle instead of a middle finger. The challenge is to laugh at least once a day for two weeks. It’s mainly because angst is so overrated, and if we’re all going to hell in a hand basket, make sure mine is stuffed with chocolate, wine, assorted good books, and refreshing wet wipes.

I created the challenge because I see too many crabby people. They’re everywhere. Gloomy, dejected, hopeless souls are moping about underneath their favorite miserable cloud of doom, and their sorry melancholy is interfering with my jovial mood. That’s why I keep a red clown nose in my car to pop on when I’m at a stop light so I can wave at the drivers next to me. They either snarl and flip off my effort or they smile in return. It’s a gamble I’m willing to take for the betterment of society.

Here are five simple suggestions to begin the “Midlife Laughter Challenge.”

1. Create a positive morning routine. If you must have an alarm clock, replace the screeching buzzer that is reminiscent of the shower scene from the movie Psycho with some energetic music. Try something between Barbra Streisand’s “Don’t Rain on my Parade” and Tina Turner’s “Proud Mary.” Then take a few minutes to mediate on why you’re lucky to have another day even though your back aches, your eyes are crusted shut, you can’t remember what month it is, and you’ve suddenly developed morning flatulence.

2. Dare yourself to smile. Find or take a photograph of you laughing and tape the photo on your bathroom mirror and next to the coffee pot. I have a photo of me laughing with a friend while sharing a bottle of Cabernet. (Substitute beer, donuts, and/or cheesecake, if necessary.) Concentrate to recall how a good belly laugh makes you feel. If it’s been over a decade since you laughed until you snorted, stop everything and go find something funny. Now.

3. Throughout the day, balance irritations with gratitude. Expect to wait in long lines of grouchy people, but realize that it must suck to be them while you are free to burst into a spontaneous version of “Bohemian Rhapsody” at any moment, complete with air guitar and head banging. Exuberant jolliness really annoys the caustic crowd, so enjoy your power over them.

4. Keep a supply of humorous books, movies, and favorite articles. Funny middle-aged women are writing delightful blogs on the Internet, so allocate twenty minutes to read some of them. My movie collection contains sophisticated classics such as Airplane and Blazing Saddles, and sometimes, late at night, I watch reruns of I Love Lucy. It’s a guilty pleasure that I don’t get from Pulp Fiction or Chainsaw Massacre.

5. End the day by writing a brief synopsis of happy thoughts in your journal. No laughter? Don’t go to bed until you find a joke or humorous anecdote that makes you laugh or at least smile. Best assignment ever!

After two weeks of laughing every day, you’ll have a better outlook on life. And people will enjoy being around you. Laughter is contagious so you want to infect entire populations as you can, and then extend the challenge every two weeks. Strive to avoid pompous jerks and stop reading online comments from Internet trolls who delight in spewing anonymous crap just to make others mad. Pity these wretched souls because they are in desperate need of a belly laugh before they shrivel up and die. Finally, choose to be happy because a merry heart truly is the best medicine.

#humor

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