Elaine Ambrose

Bestselling Author, Ventriloquist, & Humorist

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Midlife Cabernet: Bake a Chicken and Be Adored

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A few weeks ago I spent six hours making chicken parmesan from scratch: I simmered the vegetables to make red sauce, coated fresh chicken in grated cheese then browned it in imported extra-virgin olive oil, layered the meat, sauce, and extra fresh cheeses in a huge pan and baked it to perfection. All the pots and pans in the kitchen were dirty, and I barely had time to open and guzzle the wine before the family came for dinner.

The following week I quickly stuffed some carrots, celery, garlic, and onions into the cavity of a whole chicken, covered the top with olive oil, sprinkled fresh rosemary over the bird and stuck it in the oven. Preparation time was 15 minutes. The family raved over dinner as if I were the Supreme Grand Exalted Chef of the Universe.

(Note to self: next time, just stick a few chickens in the oven and skip the labor-intensive dishes.)

People don’t bake very often, and that’s a shame because I see all these glorious gourmet kitchens full of gleaming appliances and stocked with the latest gadgets along with a few contraptions that mystify me. What do they do? But I also see empty pizza and takeout boxes stuffed into the garbage can.

I asked my neighbor if she had turned on her fancy new, six-burner, gas oven. She said that it was too much pressure to use it and that she didn’t have time to fix anything, and they were all too busy to sit down and eat. So I invited her family over for dinner and served two baked chickens, brown rice, a green salad, steamed asparagus, and crusty bread. The family wouldn’t stop raving about the meal and wondered how I found the time to do it all. I replied that it took less than two hours to pull it together and they could do it, too. They stared at me with wide-eyed looks of amazement as if I’d just challenged them to assemble a rocket engine. Blindfolded.

When they started to go home, I handed them a book from my collection and suggested they read it. It was a cookbook, one of several I own that date back to the sixties. They were delighted that it came with detailed instructions and color photographs.

Midlife Cabernet: More Baby Boomers than Teens “Like” Facebook

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A new report by iStrategy Labs indicates that teenagers are leaving Facebook while there is an 80% surge in users with an age of 55 or above. That’s okay with me. I can quickly scroll through postings about the latest “OMG!” teenage angst of the day, even though I roll my eyes at teens slobbering over Justin Bieber and I’m perplexed by the constant incorrect use of your and you’re. Doesn’t anyone take English 101?

I know my younger friends don’t read my blog “Midlife Cabernet” and I don’t read their teenage nonsense. I do enjoy following their antics with their families because I usually know their parents or grandparents. It’s like a friendly community picnic without the slimy, green gelatin salad or pesky flies.

I welcome more middle-aged people joining Facebook because I’ve found long-lost friends and relatives who still want to be my friend. “Remember me?” is like a hug from the past. I can troll their pages and catch up with their lives, and it’s more convenient than sifting through the biographies in the class reunion booklets. Plus, we don’t need the pressure to update our contact list or antiquated Rolodex files.

The Facebook study also revealed a 65% increase in college alumni. It’s a great method for contacting former collegians who knew each other during a pivotal time in their lives. Yes, we still have our Carole King Tapestry album, and no, we never ran away with that mysterious guru from India. We’re totally grateful that we didn’t have the Internet and Facebook when we were in college because there are some wicked photos that could have damaged future job interviews and relations with in-laws.

Through Facebook, we can prove we didn’t become a lonely goat herder in a foreign country because now we have an identity, a computer, and we know how to use the Internet. And we didn’t need to rent those smiling faces to pose as our real spouses, children, and grandchildren. Most middle-aged people are mature enough to know that if we don’t click “like” on a message that doesn’t mean we don’t like them. We’re over that junior high stuff.

The study claimed that teenagers are leaving Facebook because they want privacy from their parents and relatives. However, 71% of adults who use the Internet also use Facebook. With 1.2 billion monthly users, there’s still a good chance for an inclusive mix of all ages. And we older folks know a key statistic that the teens ignore: some day they will be old, too. And their kids will demand to have their own space, and we don’t need a fancy study to tell us those facts. But it does make us smile enough to show off our well-earned laugh lines.

Today’s blog is fueled by a 2011 Decoy red wine from the fabulous Duckhorn Wine Company in Napa County, California. This yummy wine is available at Crush Wine Bar in Eagle, but not for teenagers. That’s one more major advantage to being older.

Midlife Cabernet: I Miss Johnny Carson

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Midlife Cabernet: I Miss Johnny Carson

Late night television continues to evolve with new names in the designated schedules, but no one will ever compare to Johnny Carson. Many of us tuned in between 1962 and 1992 to hear his clever quips and hilarious routines on The Tonight Show Starring Johnny Carson. Every weekday night, we joined millions of Americans who settled into bed and prepared to laugh as Ed McMahon announced, “Here’s Johnny!”

I still see him parting the curtains and walking into the spotlight to deliver comical and entertaining monologues. Then he would go to his desk and introduce funny skits with our favorite characters, including Carnac the Magnificent predicting the future, Aunt Blabby discussing elder affairs, and Art Fern giving his effervescent movie critiques. We laughed, turned off the television, and went to sleep with a smile while escaping the current pressures of our daily, unfunny lives.

Carson’s history is interesting and intriguing. As a teenager, he loved to perform magic tricks and earned $25 per performance at his fraternity at the University of Nebraska. He wrote a thesis on the structure of Jack Benny’s comedy routines and graduated in 1949 with a degree in radio and speech with a minor in physics. Obviously, he was smarter than the clowns he often mimicked.

In 1951 as a struggling comic he did a comedy routine in California that spoofed a local political figure. The wife of the victim owned stock in a radio station in Los Angeles and referred Carson as a potential star. Carson gained employment by working for Red Skelton and got his big break by filling in for the popular comedian. Then he was signed as a writer for Jack Benny and his career was underway. By the mid1970s he earned 4 million a year – equivalent to $14 million annual in today’s dollars.

I still remember his final show in 1992. Bette Midler was the last guest and she sang “One for the Road.” There wasn’t a dry eye in the audience or in my house. Carson died in 2005 and ended an era of genuinely funny and unscripted television hosts. It’s sad to realize that new generations will only identify the phase “Here’s Johnny” with the hit movie The Shining, and most won’t understand the correlation between the insane character of Jack Nicholson with the shy comic genius of Johnny Carson. But that’s what he would have wanted.

Midlife Cabernet: The World is Better when Pooh Bear is Safe

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imageI enjoyed a social engagement this week with an extraordinary little girl I call Sweetie Pie. We shared a tea party with yellow bananas and green peppers on pink checkered plates. Then we read colorful books and sang silly songs. But the genteel mood disappeared when our movie brought a significant amount of concern and worry. Crazy bees were chasing Winnie-the-Pooh in the hundred acre wood!

To prepare for the movie, Sweetie Pie selected a cozy fleece blanket, a cuddly bear, and a beautiful doll. We settled in to watch Winnie-the-Pooh, based upon the 1926 book by A.A. Milne. Thousands of children’s books have been written since then, but the gentle, steadfast, loveable bear still warms the hearts of little girls and boys everywhere.

The scenes were from the original book and the accompanying music was sweet. But the bear continued to get into trouble. He got stuck in Rabbit’s front door because he ate too much honey. Then got trapped in Owl’s house during a wind storm. But the scary part came when the bees were chasing him through the forest and he was under pressure to escape. Sweetie Pie was anxious until he was safe.

I feel the same way about her. She is so tender, vulnerable, and precious. Sometimes she stares at me with the gaze of an old soul, and I wonder what she knows. She is my granddaughter and our heritage is strong, forged from pioneers and farmers who were good and worthy. In her face, I see the past and the future, and all I want is for her to be protected from any harm.

Sweetie Pie was born four years ago with ten fingers, ten toes, and one extra chromosome. She has Down syndrome. She has brought joy and unconditional love to our family, and she receives it in return. After our play date she gave me a big hug and toddled to the car with her parents. For now, she is safe. And the world is a better place.

Midlife Cabernet: Avoid Toenails in Your Soup

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waiter_0I often experience profound public humiliation with a daunting magnitude that would send most people screaming into the forest, never to return. After all these years, I accept the fact that I probably will trip and fall in a busy crosswalk, fart during a massage, drop my passport into a foreign toilet, or sprout broccoli in my teeth while giving a motivational speech. That’s what I do.

However, I still cringe at the memory of a recent embarrassment. Due to stress, deadlines, and too much caffeine, I had attacked my fingernails like a crazed wolverine, leaving bloody stumps that were too painful to use even to shampoo my hair. Of course, this was on a day when I had a Very Important Meeting with some Very Important People at a Very Private Club in Boise. Not even my best St. Johns knit suit could hide my tortured hands. It was time to leave, so I frantically pawed through my drawers looking for some fake nails to glue onto my fingers but only found some press-on toenails. The instructions on the box guaranteed that I didn’t need glue because the adhesive would last for a week. I slapped those gleaming toenails onto the ends of my ravaged fingers, picked up my briefcase, and dashed to the meeting, feeling smug that I had successfully survived yet another personal crisis.

At the Very Exclusive Club, I was escorted to the premium table and introduced to a sophisticated woman who looked like a model in a Ralph Lauren ad and a man who appeared to possess all the knowledge of the universe. As she shook my right hand, the toenail on my right thumb suddenly popped off and landed on the white linen tablecloth. I mumbled something about “that darned broken nail” and plucked it from the table. After exchanging professional pleasantries, we ordered herb-infused tomato bisque. As I took a sip, the toenail on the left hand snapped off and plopped into the soup. I tried to push it down with my spoon, but it kept bobbing up as if pleading to be rescued. Apparently, toes are wider and flatter than fingernails, and these things wouldn’t last the hour let alone a week. I resisted the temptation to say, “Waiter, there’s a toenail in my soup.”

My table companions cleared their throats and started their conversation about how I should diversify my investment portfolio to take advantage of opportunities in emerging markets. As they talked, I held my hands in my lap, working quickly to pry off the remaining nails so they wouldn’t sporadically shoot from my hand and put out someone’s eye. Two of the stubborn nails validated the claim on the box and wouldn’t release until I ripped them off and the wounded fingers started to bleed again. I discretely wrapped the linen napkin around my hand until it looked like one of those bandaged fists from a war movie. By the time the elegant woman was displaying a chart of recommended international equity funds, I was sitting on a pile of discarded toenails, applying white-linen pressure to my hemorrhaging fingertips, and pretending everything was okay.

I want the dignified waiter at The Arid Club to know that I really regret leaving that horrible mess. But maybe he overheard some good hints about investing and someday he’ll remove my name from the list of “Guests to Never Allow Back Inside.”

(This is an excerpt from the new book Midlife Cabernet – Life Love and Laughter after Fifty. Buy the e-book now on amazon.com and laugh by noon.)

Midlife Cabernet: I’m a Vindicated Class Clown

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image_13As the author of this blog and the new book Midlife Cabernet, I am gloriously giddy about being selected to present a stand-up comedy routine Saturday at the Erma Bombeck Writers’ Workshop in Dayton, Ohio. I’m included on the Erma Bombeck Blog Roll and this blog has been featured on the Erma Bombeck web site, so I am honored to have this opportunity to spin some yarns to a live audience of 400 funny people. And, to my former teachers who were irritated when I was the obnoxious class clown, I apologize but sitting all those hours in the principal’s office didn’t work.