Elaine Ambrose

Bestselling Author, Ventriloquist, & Humorist

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#midlife

Let Grandma Sleep on the Floor

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b doll house 2

My wee grandbaby came for a play date, and after the obligatory tea party with assorted stuffed bears she turned to the doll house. I watched, amused, as she carefully positioned each piece of furniture and posed every character. Obviously, she decided it was time for bed.

The baby was tucked into the crib, the daughter napped on a bunk bed, and the dog was snoozing in the dog house, outside of course. Then she took the gray-haired doll and placed her on the floor instead of the bed.

“Why is Gramma on the floor?” I asked.

“So she won’t fall down and hurt her leg.”

Sometimes the innocent thoughts of toddlers are profound and gentle. I recently survived knee surgery, and my grandkids had seen me incapacitated with pain, hooked to an ice machine, and then hobbling around on crutches and a cane. I thought I was providing a good example by getting better and finally walking without assistance. But, she was still concerned that I might get hurt again. In her mind, if Gramma stayed on the floor, she couldn’t fall down.

I probably should obey that advice, but I have too much to do. However, I’ll consider being more careful, especially in the presence of little observers. They are learning that an injury can’t be cured every time with a Barbie Band-Aid and a kiss from Mommy. (Although those examples do have definite therapeutic and lasting value.)

As I get older, every second of every day, I’m reminded that this old gal ain’t what she used to be. I ache in new places, I don’t have as much energy as I once had, and body parts are moving south without my permission. Injuries take longer to heal, and sometimes I long for an afternoon nap. That phenomenon is new and a bit bewildering.

In a recent attempt to cheer up, I scheduled a hair appointment. My regular stylist was gone so I had a new hairdresser who looked as if she had just skipped in from recess. She told me she was excited to celebrate her 21st birthday by visiting her mother. I asked her if the mom would like a copy of my book Midlife Cabernet. She remarked that her mother wasn’t “that old” but maybe her grandmother would like it. I debated giving her a 20% tip, but of course I did and then shuffled out the door.

In my mind, I’m still 40. But then I realize my daughter is in her thirties, so one of us has the wrong age. I’ve appreciated the marvelous adventures on this glorious journey through the decades, and I look forward to many more. But now I’m tired and think I’ll go lie down. Maybe, just to be safe, I’ll do that on the floor.

Don’t Snore on the First Date

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stop noise

Middle-age women often ask me for advice about dating after age 50. I tell them to note my three non-negotiable nuggets of knowledge before baring their souls and body parts: Do Keep a Positive Attitude, Don’t Settle, and Don’t Snore on the First Date.

Single women in their fifties face new and daunting dating dilemmas that they didn’t experience in their twenties and thirties. Back then, their breasts were closer to their shoulders than to their knees. Decades ago, they didn’t wet their pants every time they sneezed. When they were young and carefree, the skin on their necks didn’t resemble a dryer hose. And, in those fabulous but fleeting days of youth, they could party all night with plenty of energy remaining for an hour-long festive romp between the sheets.

After living for half a century, reality sets in like an irritating ingrown toenail that won’t go away. We’re faced with new insecurities when we receive amorous advances from a potential suitor. We know our boobs will never get back to elbow level without nipple clamps tied to our ears. Stifling a sneeze to prevent leakage in the lower regions only will result in a ferocious fart. And, we’ll never stay awake after 9:00 pm, especially if we swill a few glasses of wine. And, who wouldn’t want to do that?

Before we accept a date, shave our legs, and exchange yoga pants for a sassy outfit, we should mentally remember our three rules of engagement:

  1. Do Keep a Positive Attitude. Maybe your date is apprehensive, too, and regrets that his high school physique graduated long ago and left the state. His priority might be to have an intelligent conversation with a witty, seasoned woman who dazzles him with her self-confidence and natural charm. There is about a 10 percent chance that this fairy tale will come true, but don’t give up.
  2. Don’t Settle. I know a middle-aged woman so desperate for a relationship that she cavorted with a professional loser with no assets, no job potential, and without any socially redeeming value. He moved into her house, brought along his menagerie of dogs and snakes, and proceeded to deplete her refrigerator, bank account, and self-esteem. By the time she finally kicked out the dude, she was a ruined shell of a woman who sat alone in her backyard and talked to flies. Don’t become that woman.
  3. Don’t Snore on the First Date. We all know first impressions are important, so that’s why we check our teeth for broccoli, remove the toothpick, and change the wine-stained shirt before meeting a new date. As for the snoring, I’m not suggesting that you hop into bed an hour after meeting. Wait at least a day or two. The snoring can result on the first date after you’re so exhausted from a busy day that you fall asleep during dinner or in a movie and then make grotesque nasal sounds like a congested warthog with severe allergies. This unfortunate action can kill the romance before there is any chance of giggling down the hallway toward the play room. If you think you might snore, stay awake. You’ll thank me later.

Many middle-aged, unmarried women don’t need to take a chance on dating and are happy with their single life. That’s just fine. But for those who want to tiptoe back into the dating pool, feel free to jump in and make a big splash. After a few strokes, you might even feel confident enough to remove your life jacket.

 

 

The Couches of My Life

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1978 emily chest

My parents owned one good set of furniture that lasted 40 years. After the first 20 years, my father had the couches recovered with leather so they would last longer. I didn’t have that same attachment to any sofa, and I’ve lost count of the good, bad, and ugly selections that have entered and departed my living room.

As with most newlyweds, my husband and I didn’t have extra money. We found an inexpensive fuzzy, green striped couch with a matching love seat at a big warehouse and brought them home in a borrowed pickup truck. We moved those bulky pieces several times over15 years, and the fabric endured multiple assaults from busy, messy children. (That sleepy baby in the photo now is married and has kids and couches of her own.)

1995 family room

When my two children were 10 and 12, I decorated the room with colorful furniture. I loved my custom-ordered, teal-green leather couch, and sadly learned years later that no one liked it. We eventually gave it away to a young couple who covered it with a blanket. Now, I cringe when I see those boring white walls that practically beg for paint or wallpaper and a creative spattering of art.

1998 living room hickories

After my first child left for college, I went into my pristine, virginal white stage. Misguided by a young and eager interior decorator, I installed white wool carpet and christened the living room with elegant white furniture. No one would step into the room because it was too immaculate, and I finally sold the couch and table on consignment and gave away the chair. I lost the fabulous tapestry in a divorce.

living room

My current couch is ten years old, and I moved it four times before finding my forever home. I’ve mixed sturdy leather furniture and wooden lamps and iron mirrors with colorful patterns in my favorite colors of red and gold beneath a tapestry of Portofino, Italy. There is a sanctuary corner on the left with a hand-carved statue of St. Christopher, the patron saint of travel. I bought it in Bolzano, Italy when I was there during the tragic events of September 11, 2001 and couldn’t fly home. This room is safe for playing grandkids and elegant enough for adult soirees.

As I look at the couches of my life, I’m reminded of the significant events that occurred while I was busy setting up a home, working full-time, and raising children. Those scruffy early pieces were good enough for my babies. The teal monstrosity made me happy. The white mistakes were my reaction to divorced life and an attempt to make everything perfect again. And, my current leather couch symbolizes the comfort and stability of my present home. I’m grateful that I have a house with furniture, and I support charities that offer assistance to homeless families.

After moving 16 times during my adult life, I’m finally home. I encourage my friends and family to come inside, get cozy on the sofa, share a glass of wine, and give a toast to life. The furniture is replaceable, but the memories and good times last forever.

 

Do Not Start a Relationship in Winter

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cold woman

Winter arrived early like an unwanted relative and dumped record amounts of snow as if to announce, “Put away the jeweled flip-flops, Sweetheart, and grab a coat before you freeze your assets.”

Because I’ve been around the block many times in all kinds of weather, I’m here to give unsolicited but helpful advice if you intend to enter into a new relationship. Here are some reasons you should never start dating during cold weather:

  1. Shivering is unattractive. Gazing into a new lover’s eyes loses a romantic spark if your nose is red and producing enough snot to fill a salad bowl.
  2. Bundling is bulgy. If you go out for the evening, you can’t wear sexy sandals or else you’ll slip on the ice and bruise your ego. Instead, you’ll pull on clumsy boots, thick pants that could protect a Sherpa on Mt. Everest, a muffler that sticks to your runny nose, and a parka that’s too big to squeeze through the door. And you’ll be sneezing into crumpled wads of messy tissue. This is not a sensual look.
  3. Don’t lose the coat. If you go to a restaurant or fancy event and check your coat, you’ll sit with your date and tremble because you’re so cold. Crawling onto your companion’s lap or pulling the tablecloth around your shoulders for warmth can stifle a genuine return of affection. Keep your coat nearby, and add a wool shawl and portable heater, if necessary. There comes a time when your comfort trumps protocol.
  4. Forget strolling hand in hand. Unless you were raised on a frozen tundra, avoid long walks in frigid temperatures. Such an experience could cause your nostrils to freeze and your feet to go numb. Then you’ll stumble into the nearest open business, fall onto the floor, and barter your first-born child in exchange for hot coals to be dumped upon your freezing body. This action will cause your date to doubt that you’re “The One.”
  5. Expect to gain weight. We’re innocent descendants of our ancestors, and in order to survive the winter they always packed on some extra fat. To honor that tradition, we’ve been known to add 20 pounds during the first weekend of December. We can’t help it. But, that added weight could be a negative when meeting a new beau.
  6. Home is comforting. When you’re in a new relationship, there’s an added stress to be ready for action. The prospective mate better raise the bar if you’re going to leave your warm recliner, shave your legs, floss, and find matching socks. Cuddling up at home in your sweatpants with a hot toddy could be a welcome alternative to the dating scene.
  7. The other seasons bring problems, also. Don’t date in the spring if your allergic rhinitis causes you to wear a nose cap. Beware of summer because you easily get sunburned and can’t be touched. And forget about autumn. No one wants to be in a new relationship knowing that the coming holidays could require introductions to your crazy family or the daunting dilemma surrounding gift-giving. Face it, there is no good time.
  8. Ignore all these suggestions. You could meet someone and suddenly feel that unique tingle that says, “Shut the front door – this one’s a keeper!” Then by all means, relish the experience and enjoy the fun, regardless of the season.

 

Pain Sucks

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stop the pain

This morning brought a splendid gift: I can walk without pain for the first time in two months. I feel like joyfully dancing in the street, but I’m so uncoordinated that I’d trip on a pebble and break a bone. I’ll just be quiet and appreciate the simple pleasure of moving without projectile spittle, profuse swearing, and the manic desire to club strangers with my crutches.

After falling down with such spectacular efficiency that the meniscus tore beneath my knee and the leg bone cracked, I needed surgery to repair the damage. It’s humbling to depend upon others to care for me but there are some handy perks.

If you endure an accident and are temporarily incapacitated, here are some tips for surviving the ordeal:

  1. Realize that everything is relative. Forget fashion. My sassy shirts and stylish capris weren’t touched for two months because I could only wear sweat pants and comfortable tops. It didn’t matter if my socks matched. But I still wore earrings, even while confined to my recliner. If I can’t put on earrings, my family will know I’m near death.
  2. The world will continue to turn without you. By canceling appointments and staying home, I gained a new appreciation for my house, chair, books, and silence. I also saved a lot of money not buying gas.
  3. A loving, patient partner is better than gold. For weeks, Studley took me to doctor’s appointments, made meals, washed dishes, did the laundry, and maintained the ice machine on my leg while also working a demanding, full-time job. However, there is a limit. I told him last night that he was welcome to continue these activities, and he remarked that a nearby apartment complex has some openings.
  4. Appreciate your family and friends. I received nice phone calls, hot meals, hugs from grandkids, and a can of chocolate-covered pecans from Texas! I exploited the situation to full advantage.
  5. Be kinder to disadvantaged people. My discomfort lasted for two months, but there are people who suffer for years with physical disabilities and chronic pain. Find ways to help them. When I finally was able to bumble about on crutches, I was thankful for those who opened doors for me, allowed me to go first in line, and didn’t complain when I used my handicapped parking permit.
  6. Do not become a television zombie. Daytime television offers a bunch of brain-eating crap! The soap operas have had the same plot for 30 years, and the beautiful actors always have the same tortured expression at the end of every angst-filled scene. Lady, if I had clothes and jewelry like yours, I’d at least crack a smile every now and then. Reality talk shows display and exploit the worst of humanity, and game shows remind me of rats in a maze at Vegas. There are some good shows on Public Television, the Discovery Channel, the History Channel, and I love the old movies. The best part of home confinement was to be surrounded by books, and I actually read some from cover to cover – a splendid treat.

Accidents happen, and our attitudes can hinder or help our recovery. I didn’t always follow the instructions of my physical therapist, so my healing time took longer. Finally, I obeyed the order to be still and rest, and my body responded and became stronger. The best part of physical pain is when it goes away. Today, I can walk, and the world is beautiful.

 

A Love Note to my Internet Trolls

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internet troll crop (2)

As a syndicated blogger, I’m accustomed to receiving unsolicited remarks about my posts on various social media websites. Regular readers know I write humor targeted to middle-aged women, and they anticipate a certain level of sassy irreverence. It’s a role I enjoy, mainly because I can write from home while wearing pajamas and sipping wine.

The last few days, however, brought new extremes of praise and punishment for my writing skills. The copious compliments were tempered with caustic criticism, almost enough to crush my delicate soul.

Four of my essays were published last week on the Huffington Post. My only serious piece was about my ailing mother and titled “If My Mother Died Today.” http://www.huffingtonpost.com/elaine-ambrose/caring-for-elderly-parents_b_5979904.html

The post received almost 1,000 favorable likes on Facebook and many middle-aged caregivers wrote to thank me for giving a voice to their feelings.

In the essay, I wrote about playing Tennessee Ernie Ford’s spiritual music for my mother when she was in critical condition in the hospital. I ended the piece with Ford’s familiar saying, “Bless your pea pickin’ heart.” The next day I received a touching email from Ford’s daughter-in-law. She loved the blog and offered to send me some of Ford’s spiritual music. I requested “His Eye is on the Sparrow,” one of my favorites. She responded that she was sending a 40-song collection. I am honored and humbled.

The next day, Huffington Post featured my humorous post titled “Why Small Print Makes us See Red.”

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/elaine-ambrose/small-print_b_5989416.html

The message was an exasperated, satirical plea for manufacturers to increase the size of print on products so middle-aged women wouldn’t need to wear eyeglasses in the shower to decipher the shampoo from the conditioner. The responses came immediately. One person offered to send me a free pair of “Thinoptics” – a pair of reader glasses in a cell phone case. I accepted. Another offered me a deal on Lasik eye surgery. I declined.

The essay received more than 2,600 likes on Facebook, 344 shares and 160 comments. I’ve only been blogging on HuffPo for a month, so the response was exciting. But I was unprepared for the vitriolic assaults. Here are some of the published comments:

“This was supposed to be humorous? Well, keep on trying.”

“”Another female problem to kvetch about.”

“We already cater too much to Boomers.”

“This was humor?”

Additional comments deteriorated into attacks about misplaced priorities, gay rights, and trolls living in basements. I answered a few but then stopped because I didn’t want to get down to their level. I peeked back the next day and found more than 100 positive comments, so I felt better. Still, I wondered what possessed a man (yes, most of the mean comments were from men) to make nasty comments on a humor column targeted to middle-aged women. With all due respect, bless your pea pickin’ hearts but take your sorry asses and go troll somewhere else.