Elaine Ambrose

Bestselling Author, Ventriloquist, & Humorist

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#midlife

For Peace and Clarity, Go Hang a Banana

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(Featured on The Huffington Post Fifty on August 18, 2015.)

peace

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.

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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.

How to Publish a Book, Lose Weight, and Find True Love

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books lightbulbs

One day you wake and realize you’re an indolent cynic so you decide to close the box of donuts, get out of the bathrobe, and do something with your life. This can be difficult if you’ve never ventured beyond the corner bakery. If you’re committed to accomplishing a few big ticket items, here are some suggestions to try before you melt into a unused puddle of mush.

Publishing a book will challenge your brain. Start with a sizzling idea and a word processing program, and you can have a book written and published in four months. Allocate several hours a day to write and focus on your project. Aim for 2,000 words a day, every day and you’ll have 14,000 words in a week, 56,000 words in a month. After two months, you should have 112,000 words. Hire a professional editor to cut out the bad parts (expected to toss 60,000 words) and polish the manuscript. Then ask a few beta readers to critique the manuscript and adjust as necessary.

While the editor is working, hire a professional graphic artist to design a cover. Get some quotes from the most famous people you know to include on the back cover. Establish your own publishing company, register it with the state, buy an ISBN number and a bar code, write your publishers page, dedication, and acknowledgements, and have the graphic artist format the manuscript for publication as a paperback and an e-book. Research online resources for complete details.

Set up an account with a book publishing company, such as CreateSpace. Submit the cover and manuscript and wait for them to upload your book to amazon.com. Then order a proof copy, read it thoroughly, email any edits, order another proof, if necessary, and then push the “publish” button. You’ll have your book in a few weeks. Total cost, depending on expenses for graphic design, editors, and the number of pages, could be around $4 per book so set your price accordingly. Then the work begins as you market and promote your work. The odds are against you. According to a story in the New York Times, most self-published books sell fewer than 150 copies. But you’ll have produced something not many people have finished, and you’ll have gifts for several decades.

chubby lady belly

Losing weight is easy. Eat small amounts of healthy, organic food and exercise daily. I really wish I could do that. Being sporadically disciplined over the years, I’ve repeatedly lost and regained the weight of a Buick.

fat cupid

Finding true love is difficult but not impossible. You can’t rush or plan it, but don’t panic. Sometimes it takes half a century to get it right, but don’t give up or settle for less than you deserve. Trust me.

So, now you have some ideas for what to do with the rest of your life. After you achieve your first worthy goals, gleefully choose other projects: volunteer at a worthy local charity, run for office, travel to a secluded yoga retreat, or take piano lessons. You may have unleashed your dormant, inner warrior. And if you still crave donuts, take a few boxes to share with a youth group or senior citizen facility. Compassion cuts the calories.

Twenty Ways to Legally Evict Your House Guests

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(Published on The Huffington Post May 21, 2015)

house guest unwanted

 

One of the big advantages of getting older is that your children eventually grow up and move away. For some reason, when my kids turned 18 they ran out of the house as fast as they could, kissed the ground, and mumbled something about “Free at last!” But after lengthy therapy sessions they now visit occasionally, and that’s is a good thing. They even let me watch their kids, after I pass a 50-point checklist and agree to security cameras and breathalyzer tests.

After they left, I turned one of their rooms into the guest room. That means I have a place to dry laundry on the bed, cram bags of unread mail into the closet, and ignore the cobwebs that loop from lamp to window like delicate lace décor.

I’m thrown into a panic when I know guests will spend the night. I gather clutter into garbage bags and toss them into the garage where they languish for months. I frantically dust and am amazed at the true color of the furniture. Once I used a vacuum hose to capture the cobwebs, but I accidentally sucked up the curtains and broke the rod. Now I just wave a towel around and hope to catch the webs before the evil spider seeks revenge and jumps up my nose. I hate spiders in my nose.

I enjoy sharing time and space with friends, but there is an important rule when having houseguests: Don’t make it too comfortable. If you include little dishes of individual, scented soaps, a collection of salacious books, and a small refrigerator stocked with wine and cheese, expect them to set up residence and never leave. You’ll have a problem when they forward their mail to your house. That’s a bad thing.

Grandma Clell, my paternal grandmother, always opened her home to weary travelers, visiting relatives, and runaway granddaughters. Though quite the hostess, she had rules that no one should stay longer than necessary. I have improvised some of those rules for myself when I have houseguests who don’t want to leave:

1. Take them to the airport early. Preferably two days before their flight.
2. Cook naked.
3. Have cockroach traps on the dining table.
4. Hide a condom in their bed.
5. Stock the guest bathroom with one Hello Kitty towel and four sheets of toilet paper.
6. Loudly play polka music featuring the Six Fat Dutchmen.
7. Serve burned toast and one sausage — for dinner.
8. Host a meeting of your Toenail Biters Support Group.
9. Close your bedroom door and continually play the fake orgasm scene from When Harry Met Sally.
10. Answer your cell phone, scream “Oh no!” run out of the house, and get a hotel room.
11. Buy several pairs of the biggest size of men’s underwear you can find — and leave them drying on the couch.
12. Show movies of your colonoscopy.
13. Experience bouts of uncontrollable flatulence.
14. Have the TV channel stuck on FOX News.
15. Remind them that you’ll need to search their suitcase for the missing silverware.
16. Stare at them for a long time and ask them to repeat their name because you just can’t remember it.
17. Throw utility bills on the counter and cry into a towel.
18. Clip your toenails during breakfast.
19. Sing and dance in your underwear to “Uptown Funk.”
20. Buy a pet goat and let it run through the house. What do you have to lose?

If all these suggestions don’t work, you may need to take drastic measures and move away. That worked for my kids.

Ten Tips for Fearless Graduates

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(Published on The Huffington Post on May 28)

Graduates tossing caps into the air

For some reason, probably budget problems or because someone forgot to get a speaker, I’ve been the commencement speaker for the University of Idaho, the College of Southern Idaho and several high schools. Before each speech, I create inspirational, 20-minute messages to convince clueless graduates that life will be great if they just get a job, floss daily and call their mom once a week.

On the other hand, I could tell them they are doomed, there aren’t any jobs, the country is on the brink of destruction, they’ll never get out of debt and they should move into the woods and make macramé hangers to sell at craft fairs. But that advice might not motivate them to attain their potential greatness.

Thousands of graduates and their families will sit through commencement ceremonies this spring, and I hope they glean a few tidbits of wisdom from the speakers who will desperately be searching for eye contact. It’s difficult for motivational speakers to keep going when they know the audience already has checked out.

In between the pomp and the circumstance, I try my best to offer 10 simple suggestions for a good life:

1. Accept the fact that life isn’t fair. You could work hard, excel at your job and miss your kid’s school programs, only to see some pretty woman have an affair with the executive vice president and be given your job. (I write, somewhat bitterly, from personal experience.) Or you could get hit by a beer truck or your spouse could run away with a carnival worker or your hillbilly neighbor could get a lucrative reality show on television. Just grit your teeth, change your profession and write country/western songs.

2. No one owes you a living. Chances are, you’re not going to win the Publisher’s Clearinghouse Sweepstakes or the million-dollar lottery. And you can’t live with your parents anymore, because they want to buy a recreational vehicle and travel around to casinos and roadside attractions. Go into the world and make your own way.

3. Take risks. Watch children if you need examples of expert risk-takers. Kids love to stomp in puddles, fall out of trees, catch frogs in a ditch and ride anything with wheels. Be like they are and experience true freedom before life gives you a mortgage, kids, in-laws, 50 extra pounds, buffoon bosses and irritable bowel syndrome.

4. Mansions, fast cars and luxury vacation don’t guarantee happiness. Many good people are honestly delighted to have a small house with indoor plumbing, a pickup truck that runs, a pantry full of homemade food and a favorite camping place. Be like that.

5. Get out of debt. Why work your entire life just to pay interest to a bank? In most cases, that $100 debt on your credit card for that sassy pair of boots will remain long after they have worn out. Pay cash or go bootless.

I told graduates at the College of Southern Idaho to avoid student loans because the devious program would make them indebted to the government for several decades. I could tell by their groans that the warning came too late. So I advised their younger siblings in the audience to investigate other financial aid options, including scholarships, grants, work-study programs or trade schools. These students will have homes and new trucks while their older brothers and sisters will be living in a crowded commune while paying on their endless student loans. Check recent statistics at https://mycreditsummit.com/student-loan-debt-statistics/

6. Enjoy relationships. The happiest people are surrounded by family members and friends who accept their faults, celebrate their achievements and invite them over for barbecues and wine.

7. Avoid crabby people. They will suck out every last ounce of your energy and leave you a withered, bitter shell of wretched humanity. Purge your contact list now before it’s too late.

8. Don’t fight. No explanation needed.

9. Love more. Ditto.

10. Laugh, dance and sing. Triple ditto.

I purposely avoided any mention of politics or religion, because I’d rather smack my head with a hammer than tiptoe through the mine field of political correctness. I always conclude my speech with this last bit of advice: Call your mom and thank her for putting up with you. If she’s no longer living, call another mother and wish her a happy day. You’ll both feel good, and the world needs more people who are truly grateful.

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The author giving a commencement speech.
 

The Good Morning Project

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(Published on The Huffington Post June 1, 2015)

My acquaintance was bullied on social media, and that experience prompted an idea that could encourage others to make a positive difference while challenging the vile cesspool of cruel trolls who infest the Internet. Let’s call it the “Good Morning Project.”

Last year at a writer’s conference, I was introduced to a vivacious, witty, and successful writer. Michele and I shared the stage during a stand-up comedy night, and saw each other briefly during the rest of the event. Later we became friends on Facebook and followed each other’s comments. I admired her personality and talents, and we became associates from across the country.

Recently she was verbally attacked through social media by a former acquaintance who called her vile names and wrote derogatory accusations about her. She was devastated, and she wrote about her bewilderment and pain. I felt her anguish and wanted to help but our homes were too far apart to meet and share a conversation. So I greeted her every morning on Facebook.

“Good Morning, Michele,” I wrote. “I think you’re wonderful.”

She replied with gratitude, and that started the daily exchange of messages.

I thought of her every morning as I sat to read my emails. I remembered some previous messages she had published through her Facebook posts, so I included them to personalize the next good morning message. After the third morning, she caught on to what I was doing. Again, she expressed her thanks.

The morning communications occurred for several days and became a habit. I would begin my day thinking about her and about what I could say to be positive. The entire action took less than five minutes but provided affirmative validation for both of us.

My mother’s generation of women visited and supported each other through regular conversations over coffee or over the backyard fence. A generation later, women my age moved into the work force and rarely had time for close friendships because we were too busy balancing work, families, and homes. The Internet was new to us, and we were justified in being cautious about online exchanges.

Now all ages use social media to communicate, and an online presence is an important part of our daily professional and personal lives. However, just as the Internet can become the supportive and friendly coffee klatch of yesterday, it also contains a dark side that brings out the worst of society. The anonymity gives nasty, insecure, and pathetic users the access and ability to publicly threaten, criticize, and hurt others without fear of consequence or reprisal. Online comment sections are becoming a sewer attraction for those I call Drive-by Bullies.

You can help alleviate some of the damage caused by trolls by participating in your own “Good Morning Project.” Select a random name from your list of social media contacts and send a quick, personalized message to her or him in the morning. Continue for a few days and note how the practice improves your attitude, too. Monitor feedback and stop the messages if you think the other person doesn’t need or appreciate them. Select another name and continue the brief exchange.

There are other sites that offer the same service, but the messages are generic and don’t offer a personalized greeting. Positive, significant words enhance the connection between two people, and through the proper use of technology, we can retain our humanity and strengthen important friendships. Good Morning, Michele.

The Secret of the Hairy Leg

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(Published on The Huffington Post July 2, 2015)

shave leg

 

I was 12 when my mother sat beside me, nervously cleared her throat, and gave this serious admonishment: I was never to shave my legs. I solemnly nodded but neglected to mention that I secretly had been shaving for more than a year.

My mother never had shaved her legs, mainly because respectable women of the era didn’t engage in such pretentious behavior and also she didn’t have any noticeable hair. On the other hand (or leg), my sudden eruption of hair rivaled a tangled clump of Spanish moss growing on two logs in a hot swamp. At age 11, I endured a cataclysmic growth spurt of such epoch proportions that my legs mutated into furry poles covered with twisted hairballs. All I saw between my plaid skirts and saddle shoes were two mangy pelts that should have been hanging from a trapper’s rope. Within months, my legs were hairy enough to attract nesting rodents.

In my young angst, I noticed that hair was sprouting in other places, too. After a private examination of my changing body, I was convinced that somehow there had been a big mistake and my new carpet of pubic hair wouldn’t stop where it should. I feared that soon there would be one long growth of hair that reached from my crotch to my ankles. My World Book Encyclopedias didn’t provide any answers, except to show freaky photos of bearded women in the circus. I inspected my chin and didn’t see any beard but decided I had to act.

Our small home only had one bathroom, so we all stored our toiletries in the cabinet beside the sink. That’s where I saw my father’s razor and made the decision to attack my fur. Looking back, I’m mortified that I resorted to such drastic measures, but there was no time to waste. Summer was coming I didn’t want to resemble a monkey in shorts.

The first attempts were painful as I scrapped the stubborn hair from my legs. Nicks and cuts bled onto the floor, and I quickly blotted the wounds with toilet paper. I saw a bottle of aftershave tonic so I smeared some on my battered legs. That’s the first time I learned how to scream in silence. I cleaned up the mess, returned everything to the cabinet, and hobbled to bed. The next day I read the bottles more closely and decided I would use shaving cream and warm water, as soon as the scabs healed.

I perfected the routine over the next few months and was proud of my smooth, long legs. I noticed my mother was buying more razor blades, and she mentioned that my father’s beard was getting so mature and healthy that the blades were wearing out faster than normal. Again, I solemnly nodded, secretly delighted that my legs no longer belonged on a buffalo.

Disaster stuck in late July. I broke my leg and needed a plaster cast from my knee to my toes. I worried about what was happening beneath the cast and inspected the casing daily for tuffs of fur that might emerge while I continued to shave the other leg. After two months, it was time to remove the cast. I nervously sat on the doctor’s examination table with my legs stretched out in front of me. My mother focused on the cast to be sure the doctor’s noisy saw wouldn’t accidentally cut off my leg. Finally, the plaster broke apart, and we all gasped as we saw the grim limb. The leg was twice as small as the other leg, the muscles had disappeared, and the skin was buried beneath a carpet of black, wayward pubic hair. I would have run away, but my leg was too weak.

“Oh, dear,” muttered my mother. “Do you think the dark cast caused all that hair to grow? I read in Reader’s Digest that strange things can happen like that.”

The doctor looked at me and noticed my panicked expression. He winked.

“Sometimes hair does grow without reason,” he said with authority. “This will probably be gone within a few days.”

He was correct. That hair disappeared before morning. The mangy mess almost clogged the toilet, but I shaved it off and limped to bed. Dr. Scheele passed away several years ago, but I often think of him and smile.