Elaine Ambrose

Bestselling Author, Ventriloquist, & Humorist

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How to Plan and Survive Your Midlife Birthday

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elaine party mask

My most memorable childhood birthday could be a case study for why some people need therapy. My mother’s baby died during childbirth a few weeks before my 8th birthday, so my gift was a big doll with all the clothes that had been intended for my dead baby sister. There weren’t any inflated jumping castles or face-painting clowns at this party. Just my mother, weeping in the corner.

I don’t have any fond recollection of any other birthdays. In my family, early September was the time for going back to school and working on the farm’s potato harvest, not for invading the house with rambunctious kids and messy cake. Birthdays were just another day. Suck it up, kid, and eat your spuds.

After I became an adult, I beat the birthday blues by planning my own parties. My 20th involved a huge celebration with sorority sisters at the University of Idaho, complete with midnight serenading at fraternities until someone called the cops. I was in my poverty stage on my 30th birthday, so I gathered my infant son and two-year-old daughter into the kitchen and we made gooey cupcakes from a cheap mix. I worked several jobs to get into the middle-class bracket so for my 40th I hired a choir to sing my favorite Broadway musical songs. For my 50th, dedicated work and good luck allowed me to schedule a cooking tour of Tuscany, Italy. And, for my 60th, I got married wearing a linen toga for an ancient wedding ceremony on the Greek Island of Paros. No dead babies were associated with any of these celebrations.

I loved planning birthday parties for my children. My daughter was born during the last week of March, so we always organized vacation trips during Spring Break and she assumed everyone was celebrating just for her. One of the best parties for my son was when his sister hid in a large cardboard refrigerator box and clipped various toys to the end of a fishing pole for the other children as they fished for mysterious prizes. Years later, my son finally asked why his sister’s birthdays included Disneyland and his parties only offered old boxes.

It’s time again for my birthday and the coming party will be tame compared to previous festivities. I’ll still have live music, an eclectic group of gregarious guests, and plenty of food and drinks, but we’ll probably turn out the lights before midnight. After this many trips around the sun, the best parties are at home.  My eyesight is fading, the legs are weary, and the raucous dancing has slowed to a boring two-step sway with Studley. But, it’s my birthday and I’ll sigh if I want to. (I cringe about ending a sentence with a preposition, but that one worked.) So, uncork a new bottle, raise the glasses, and toast another birthday. I’m so immensely blessed to live this long and celebrate the splendid occasion with my sweetheart, family, and assorted friends. And I do it for that sad little girl who always wanted a fun birthday.

Tips for Planning and Surviving Your Own Midlife Birthday Party:

  1. Keep it simple. I’m preparing a meatball bar with various sauces, some homemade dips with chips, fruit bowls, and cheese plates. I bartered some of my books in exchange for homemade cupcakes.
  2. No one cares if the napkins don’t match the plates, and it’s okay to use paper plates if you have invited more than 12 friends. If anyone complains, remove them from the list for the next party.
  3. After the first two rounds of drinks, hide the good stuff. They’ll never know.
  4. Live music is nice. Invite some high school kids who need cash but won’t play trash that makes your ears bleed. For my party, I invited a wonderful singer who brings her own keyboard and plays show tunes from music displayed on her IPad. I requested my favorite songs in advance because it’s my party.
  5. Make sure to visit with every guest, and for added fun, sit the executive banker next to the old hippie. Monitor the situation to prevent any arguments and then enjoy the curious fellowship. If you want to ruin the party, mention politics or religion.
  6. After the last guest goes home, turn out the lights to hide the mess and crawl into bed with your living birthday present. Another year brings another reason to celebrate being alive. Enjoy and be grateful.

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Midlife Cabernet: What’s So Funny?

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http://youtu.be/p_oRsQX5i_A

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The words “Cook in your underwear” aren’t that funny. But in the context of a speech I gave last week to the Idaho Association of School Administrators, the phrase prompted 500 people to spontaneously laugh out loud. For a speaker and an incorrigible clown, it’s a delightful feeling to say a few words that cause people to explode with laughter. That’s SO much better than instigating an audience to throw objects, fall asleep, play on their cell phones, or slink out the back door.

The above link contains a brief snippet of my talk. This excerpt includes my earnest words of wisdom and ends with the admonishment: “Want perfect children? Don’t have any.” That simple expression prompted a delightful eruption of laughs that signaled a message to my brain: “Remember this line. I don’t know why, but it worked.”

We are born with the ability to laugh, and babies exhibit the tendency at about four months of age. Audible joy is part of the human vocabulary, and all members of the human species understand the language of laughter. It occurs unconsciously, and we can’t force ourselves to produce real laughter. The emotion is within us, waiting to be stimulated. Unfortunately, many adults lose their youthful exuberance and morph into snarly old grumps. I see far too many miserable people who have no clue that their laughter option is in danger of extinction. They should tap into their hidden humor side before they lose the ability and their funny bone becomes as useless as their appendix.

The act of laughter consumes the entire body. Our facial features change, our breathing is modified, we make strange sounds, the muscles in our arms, legs, and trunk get involved, and our eyes water. For middle-aged women, we also have a tendency to wet out pants, but I’ll sacrifice the temporary humiliation for a robust belly laugh any day. I’ll just stock up on adult diapers and slapstick comedies.

Did you know there is a World Laughter Day? It’s scheduled for the first Sunday of May. The Global Belly Laugh Day is in January, and the International Moment of Laughter occurs in April. With all this attention to frivolity, it’s our duty to celebrate each charming chuckle, every gregarious guffaw, and even the most snide, snickering snort. We’re earning our laugh lines, and they make us beautiful.

Our all-too-human laughter sets us — and our close cousins, the primates — apart from all other species that roam our planet, says Robert R. Provine, PhD, a behavioral neurobiologist at the University of Maryland in Baltimore.

“Think about it the next time you walk through woods listening to the odd cries and calls of the creatures that live there: When you laugh, those creatures are hearing sounds that are just as odd and just as characteristic of our own species,” he writes in his book, Laughter: A Scientific Investigation.

I think laughter is necessary to help us skip over all the mud bogs of tragedy that ooze across our daily paths. In the movie Funny Girl, the hilarious vision of Barbra Streisand’s pregnant bride offsets the character’s personal pain. My favorite musical is Les Miserables, and the boisterous, comedy scene from “Master of the House” keeps me from dissolving into a sobbing heap after Cosette sings “Castle on a Cloud.” And in a poignant reality, through movies and recordings, we’ll always have the comic genius of Robin Williams.

Thousands of years ago in the Book of Proverbs, an astute medical prescription was written that still applies today: A merry heart does good, like medicine. But a broken spirit dries the bones. We know too many people with broken spirits and dry bones, so we should try to bring some merriment into their lives so the world has fewer crabby people to endure. Those of us who love to laugh loudly until liquids run out of our noses need to pass along this valuable life skill to those who only can muster up a trivial smile.

With so much angst and misery in the world, it’s difficult to find something to enjoy with gusto. But, I’m willing to take a chance and be with anything or anyone who can cause and appreciate joyful laughter. If that includes a challenge to cook in my underwear, I’ll take it. With an apron, of course. And the recipe better include chocolate. And wine.

 

Granny Goes New-Age with Ancient Mantras

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bell thailand

After my children grew up (way too quickly) and moved on to make the world a better place, I started a morning ritual of brewing a pot of coffee and reading the newspaper. Over the years, I’ve evolved so now I insert an instant pod of coffee into my coffeemaker and read online sources. That way I can get depressed so much faster.

Lately the news makes me feel mad, agitated, and helpless. Children are beheaded in the name of religion? Neighborhood stores are looted to avenge a shooting? The Ebola virus will kill us soon? And, another tragedy reported this morning: the Aspen trees are dying across the West.

Every now and then a positive story flutters across the news like a cookie crumb. I grab it and wish for the whole cookie. But that brings another item about health issues and how we’re all going to die of obesity, unless we get Ebola first or walk into a convenience store and get shot. I’m considering exchanging my morning coffee for a Bloody Mary. Or two.

So, I switched from the news to my favorite blogs. I knew my midlife friends could add some perspective and wit to brighten my mood, but I got immersed in the Mommy Bloggers. They’re funny and edgy, but sometimes I cringe at their victimhood, and I want to retort, “Buck up, Sisters, and cuddle that screaming toddler before he packs his bag and moves out.” I’d like to remind them that they will live longer without their children than with them. And soon those perky boobs will be swinging down at their bulging waist and their tight necks will resemble a dryer hose.

My daughter knows I’m addicted to the morning news, so she gently suggested I try a morning meditation. Though I grew up during the Age of Aquarius, I chose to avoid the hippie movement and selected the path of college degree and full-time job. That decision proved to be correct and enabled my children to have new clothes and orthodontic treatments. Being still to meditate seemed like new-age silliness, and everyone knows I can’t sit quietly. Oh look, there’s a squirrel!

But today, after becoming enraged at the photo taken by a proud father of his 7-year-old son holding a man’s severed head, I shut down the news feed and enrolled in a three-week meditation course led by Deepak Chopra and Oprah. I was skeptical at first, especially when told to be still and silently repeat a Sanskrit Mantra “Ananda Hum” – I am Bliss. I almost fell asleep, but then the mantra continued to whisper in my brain. I peeked open one eye to make sure no one was watching, then I returned to the mantra. After 15 minutes – a lifetime – I was totally relaxed. I even felt sad when a bell chimed and the mediation was over. Reality set in: It’s Monday. Time to do laundry.

I’ll admit that the meditation was lovely, and I intend to repeat it tomorrow on my patio sitting beneath the little bell I got years ago in Thailand. The bell has been hanging patiently on my arbor, waiting for me to appreciate its simple significance. My goal today is to fret less and seek happiness more. And, I intend to pray for peace and to buy some Aspen trees to plant.

 

Midlife Cabernet: Learning from the World’s Great Chefs

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Making Sand Pies  (Click on this cute video)

elaine italy cook tour crop (2)           brooke sand box crop (2)

A few years ago, I traveled on a cooking tour of Italy and learned how to make authentic dishes with acclaimed Chefs Antonia and Giulianna at the Villa Serego Alighieri near Verona. The property, surrounded by vineyards, olive trees, and fruit orchards, has been in the family of the great Italian poet Dante Alighieri (Dante’s Inferno) since the year 1353. This week, I learned how to make sand pies from chef Baby Boo in her parent’s back yard surrounded by a tree fort, miscellaneous mismatched shoes, and assorted toys. She has inspired creative recipes since 2012.

I treasured both experiences, but I must admit that the concoction presented by Baby Boo was less fattening and easier to fix than the elaborate Tuscan Cappelletti we made with fresh pasta, artisan cheeses, and red sauce that required several hours to prepare. The distinct advantage of the Italian cuisine is that the meal was paired with a luscious Amarone wine. The sandbox pies only need water and a towel. And, my son and daughter-in-law gently suggest I forgo wine while I’m tending their precious daughter.

Watching my wee granddaughters at play brings moments of delight just as enjoyable as a grand feast on a linen-covered table set in a European orchard. The little girls continually erupt with laughter as they create spontaneous inventions: a large scarf becomes a baby carrier for a stuffed owl, a wooden fort transforms into a sailboat navigating the open sea, and a sprinkler on top of a sheet of plastic causes a giggle-factory. Rumor has it that Tutu (the name they call me) is good for telling tale tales and bringing real cookies, so I’m included in the fun.

The little girls enjoyed this summer outside – camping in the Idaho Mountains, splashing on the Oregon Coast, and boating on an alpine lake. They brought along their parents just to drive and pay for everything. The girls also know how to do a Google search to download an app and store it in their personal folder on my cell phone, but they are just as happy exploring the world without electronics. For that, I am grateful.

On another cooking tour to South Africa, I learned how to use exotics spices to duplicate the rich and flavorful food of Cape Town with Chef Cass Abrahams.  She taught the value of fresh herbs and spices, including cinnamon, garlic, cloves, cardamom, nutmeg, fennel, mustard seed, saffron, turmeric, curry, and ginger root. My granddaughters are just as dedicated with their creations and prefer to mix light sand with dirt, pebbles, twigs, stray bugs, and water from the hose to form a paste that is almost impossible to remove from under their fingernails. But, their devotion to their art is just as serious as that of the grand chefs mastering their cultural cuisine. I can only smile with gratitude when handed either a grilled kebab marinated in garlic and chutney sauce or a sloppy mud pie.

The vibrant chefs I’ve met love to cook, and their exquisite recipes are their gifts to their families, to the community, and to the world. They celebrate the noble feast and know that life is better when breaking bread with friends. My granddaughters have taught me the simple pleasure of making sandbox pies and mud cakes. They, too, share an exuberant appreciation for creative play and wholesome activity. They nourish my soul.

 

 

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.