Elaine Ambrose

Bestselling Author, Ventriloquist, & Humorist

You are here: Home / Archives for #midlife

#midlife

Midlife Cabernet: What’s So Funny?

By

 

http://youtu.be/p_oRsQX5i_A

podium

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

By

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

By

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

By

image      image

 

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

image

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

image

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

image

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

image

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

image

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.

Midlife Cabernet: The Confident Curmudgeon

By

image
I’ve been attending conferences and conventions for more than 40 years, beginning in high school with the Future Homemakers of America (FHA) State Convention. Back then, I took a spiral notebook and a pen, and the sessions advised us how to organize our future homes and volunteer in the local community. This week I’m at the BlogHer Conference in San Jose with a lap top, an IPad, and a cell phone and multiple chargers. Workshops focus on marketing strategies, blog monetization, and digital activism. It’s like Home Economics on global steroids.

At my age, I should be rocking on the porch nibbling on iron pills and stool softener. But I willingly chose to attend this conference to learn the latest methods for improving and marketing my blog, Midlife Cabernet. There are more than 3,000 bloggers in attendance and the median age is 36. I have age spots older than the Rock Star Bloggers who enter and leave the room with an entourage, but I’m too old and ornery to be intimidated. I accept and enjoy my role as a confident curmudgeon.

The technology is fascinating. Thirty years ago, I traveled to business meetings and needed to wait until I returned to my office to write and distribute a report or article. Now I type a blog while sitting on the airplane and send it instantly over the Internet to several web sites. I’m one of thousands of bloggers who communicate in blocks of 500 to 1,000 words, the modern version of a syndicated newspaper columnist. Learning and remembering all the computer and online instructions helps keep my aging brain alert when it would rather take a nap.

The BlogHer Conference features a cell phone app that shows the current agenda, speaker biographies, workshop descriptions, and individual schedules. The app even tells me when and where to go for Happy Hour so I don’t need to wander the halls searching for the Hospitality Suite. I’ve made new friends, and the energy is intoxicating. The midlife bloggers have shared written stories for years, so meeting them is the same as finally seeing a good friend for the first time.

In the general sessions and workshops, I prefer to sit near the front so I can hear, take notes, and engage with the presenter. After all, I paid to be at the conference and should take away enough enlightenment, motivation, and skills to cover the costs. It’s also fun to meet people. It’s like the first day of school, except I can’t be sent to the principal’s office anymore. And no one will call my parents to report my disruptive behavior.

During the conference, a huge trade show covers an entire floor in the San Jose Convention Center, and the free handouts are abundant. The staff at one booth took photographs of bloggers with captions asking them what goal they wanted to reach by a specific age. Much to my chagrin, my advanced age wasn’t even listed as a category. But another vendor encouraged women to hold signs with motivational sayings so I confidently held one that read, “I’m awesome.” I like the photo because the heat and humidity make my scraggly hair seem thick. Maybe I should carry a spritzer in my purse after I return to Idaho.

On Sunday, Studley will get me at the airport, and I’ll eagerly tell him about my adventure. Then we’ll share adult beverages on the patio while most of the other bloggers return home to small children, full-time jobs, and pressure to improve their blogs. This seasoned journalist is happy to allow Midlife Cabernet to rest for a few days. Good wine and women need time to breathe.