Elaine Ambrose

Bestselling Author, Ventriloquist, & Humorist

You are here: Home / Archives for #midlife

#midlife

Matriarch in the Making

By

 

Not Gonna Dig Itself xx (1)

 

(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.

amy shurman

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

Why You Should be a Swinger

By

 

mirabel swing

Do you want to do something easy and fun that will make you weightless? Do you want to feel the breeze in your hair as you float through the air while laughing out loud? Go swing. You can do it alone or with a group of people of all ages. And, it’s legal!

The feeling of being weightless for even a second ranks right up there with the euphoric sensation of speeding down an open coastal highway in a convertible with Tina Turner singing in the passenger seat. Most of us don’t have the road, the car, or a connection with Turner, but we can scamper over to the city park and grab a swing. Now it’s cool to be a swinger, and you don’t need instructions, batteries, or a note from your doctor. If you’re still unsure, it’s handy to have a child along for encouragement.

Many health clubs advocate the many advantages of swinging. Not wanting to be left alone in the sandbox, scientific researchers are pumping out studies that extol the mental health benefits of getting a natural high. Here are some of the sophisticated findings from professionals and preschoolers.

1. Swinging combines the exciting combination of freedom while you retain control of how fast or high you want to go on a suspended pendulum.

2. For every hour you swing, you can burn 200 calories. Go play and then you can justify having a glass of wine!

3. Swinging is good for your physical health. It can condition joints, muscles, tendons, and ligaments. The activity is good for pelvic muscles and helps with balance.

4. Swinging is good for your mental health. You rarely see grumpy people on a swing set. Usually swingers of all ages are laughing out loud as they swing through the fresh outside air.

5. Swinging is used in Sensory Integration Therapy for people with special needs. A leading study on child development, logically titled “The Developmental Benefits of Playgrounds,” concluded that the rhythm of swinging can soothe and relax a child with developmental issues such as Autism. The simple swaying motions can provide a crucial foundation for later, more complex learning and behavior. Swinging also safely integrates a special needs child into a group of children without disabilities because they can all swing without competition or fear of failure. And, they all laugh with the same gusto.

6. Finally, swinging is a great activity for grandparents and their grandchildren. According to a certain 5-year-old expert in swinging, I am eligible and invited to swing and laugh with her on a regular basis. Another advantage is that the activity is user-friendly because there are no scattered toys to pick up and put away.

The next time you’re having a stressful day, go to a nearby park, find a swing set, and turn your iPod and headphones to Tina Turner singing “Proud Mary.” You don’t need any customized athletic wear or a personal trainer. Just sit, pump, and soar. The feeling is better and cheaper than therapy. Admit it. You’ve always wanted to be a swinger.

My Troll Hates my Pubic Writings

By

??????????????

 

A blog has the power to amuse, enlighten, or irritate anyone with access to the Internet and a toddler’s ability to communicate. Bloggers take risks and push the publish button anyway. I’ve had my share of trolls, and I usually delete their messages and chose instead to bask in the occasional complimentary notes. But, now I have a troll who continues to taunt me to publish his messages “if you have the backbone to publish my comment.” And, he says he doesn’t like my pubic writings.

As far as I know, I’ve never blogged about anything pubic. I often write about drinking wine, chasing Studley around the house, and farting in public, but I’ve never mentioned anything about my southern regions. At my age, that’s a wise decision.

So, my troll’s name is Warren, and he began sending messages last week after I posted a blog about convicted sex offenders. My target audience is middle-age women and I wrote the blog for those of us who are grandmothers. Warren doesn’t fit the demographic. His first comment was 275 words, half as long as my blog, and he told me I wasn’t informed about my subject, even though I had researched and cited official sources. I chose not to publish his comment on my website. (After all, Warren, it is my website. Write your own if you want.)

But, Warren was greatly irritated that I ignored him. He sent another message accusing me of running and hiding from the truth included in his original comment. And he said I was shameful. By now, Warren was beginning to irritate me.

A third email arrived with such a glaring error that nasty, ole’ Warren made me laugh out loud. “Censuring differing views (including mine) on your pubic writings…is not very becoming.” (As God is my witness, Warren, I will never expose my pubic writings to you. I agree with you. It would not be very becoming.)

Warren remained mad at me for not publishing his comments on my website. He sent me five messages in two days and the last one was complete with accusations. “You are a liar. You just keep running from the facts and the truth. You are no better than the rest of the media. Fear sells, right? Nice try.”

I don’t know whether to be bored or worried. Warren obviously has issues, and he doesn’t like me at all. I usually wouldn’t care, but he has information about me and where I live. I also wonder why he’s so adamant about the legal registry of convicted sex offenders. (Sorry, Warren. I don’t like convicted sex offenders, and I don’t want to live next to them. If you are on that registry, get professional help, and leave me alone.) I think I’ll return to writing humor. Trolls on my funny blogs are usually silly drunks.

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

By

elaine 2013 (23)

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.

cabo family

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

By

older couple beach

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.

elaine 2013 (426)

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.

 

 

Don’t Match Your Socks with Your Shirt

By

epcot 1989

I love socks. I grew up in Idaho where the winters require boots and a collection of thick, colorful socks, enough to fill an entire dresser drawer. Also, my pitiful feet resemble hooves fringed with bald sausages, and they practically scream to be covered. I wore socks during childbirth because my feet were uglier than all the mess associated with labor and delivery.

While disheveled and haphazard in every other part of my life, I am fastidious about my sock organization. There are categories for work, play, sports, holidays, and whimsy. It’s a sad day, indeed, when a hole appears in the heel or toe of a favorite sock. As a teenager, I knew how to drop a light bulb into the worn sock and sew the offensive gap with a needle and thread. I don’t do that anymore.

socks donut

I’ve also outgrown my corporate fashion sense that ordered me to match my socks with my shirt. I have a favorite photograph that shows my children and me at the Epcot Center at Walt Disney World in Orlando, Florida. The vacation seems like only a few days ago, but it’s been two decades. At the time, I was a manager at Boise Cascade Corporation and wore coordinated suits at work so felt that my socks must match my shirt during leisure times. In the photo, I’m wearing white shoes and shorts with red socks and shirt. I don’t do that anymore, either.

Here are some distinct reasons why you should increase your sock collection:

  1. They fit. You don’t need to worry about trying on various sizes because there are basically two choices: medium fits shoe size 6 through 10, and large fits size 10 and above.
  2. They are inexpensive. Sure, you can spend $25 for a good pair for skiing, but balance that with $2 for a 2-pack for everyday wear. It’s less painful to throw away cheap socks when they are tattered and threadbare.
  3. They complement your mood. If I’m in sophisticated fashion boots with a classic winter outfit, I often wear outrageous, unmatched socks to soothe the inner rebel.
  4. Others know what gift you’ll like. My daughter always gives me socks as a present because she knows I’ll love and wear them. It’s personal and fun but not demanding.
  5. They bring comfort. On those rare occasions when you get to lounge around with a good book and a plate of cookies, toss the shoes and stay cozy in a favorite pair.

socks colorful 2

Here’s one more recommendation about socks: Remember that a colorful life demands more than wearing boring attire. Limit your use of white socks, and tiptoe out of your comfort zone into some snazzy, bold patterns. Search on line at websites such as www.boldsocks.com or www.joyofsocks.com. You and your feet will be happy.