Elaine Ambrose

Bestselling Author, Ventriloquist, & Humorist

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Midlife Cabernet: Where have all the Lyrics Gone?

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If you need proof that we are doomed as a civilized society, just read the lyrics of the most popular songs. That will inspire you to give away your possessions to go live in the forest and wistfully play a flute beside a mountain stream.

At the risk of sounding like a crusty, crabby curmudgeon, I regretfully lament the disappearance of quality lyrics in pop culture. With apologies to Pete Seeger’s original song, I ask “Where have all the lyrics gone?” Over the past 50 years, we’ve digressed from “I want to hold your hand” to “If I eat you like a cannibal ain’t nothing to it gangsta rap made me do it.”

The Number One song of 1964 was You’ve Lost that Loving Feeling performed by the Righteous Brothers. The opening lyrics were poignant:

You never close your eyes anymore when I kiss your lips.

And there’s no tenderness like before in your fingertips.”

One of the tops songs today is Drunk in Love performed by Beyoncé Knowles. Here are some of the lyrics in her top rated song:

We woke up in the kitchen saying “How in the hell did this sh#t happen?”

Nice.

And who wouldn’t be inspired by the creative words of Miley Cyrus singing in her pop tune We Can’t Stop:

To my home girls here with the big butts shaking it like we at a strip club.

Then there is the enchanted melody of HipHop/Rap music. The current number one song Fight the Power by Public Enemy offers this inspirational line:

I’m ready an’ hyped plus I’m amped most of my heroes don’t appear on no stamp.

Here’s the last awful lyric I can type without going blind. It’s from Lady Gaga’s “song” Beautiful, Dirty, Rich:

Beautiful and dirty dirty rich rich we’ve got a redlight pornographic dance fight systematic, honey but we got no money.

I enjoy music that was performed from the late 1960s through the 1980s. The top ten songs from 1980 feature the works of a wide diversity of artists: Blondie, Michael Jackson, Pink Floyd, Bette Midler, Billy Joel, Queen, and Paul McCartney. I’ll play their music any day. Other personal favorites include Procol Harum, Moody Blues, UB40, Carole King, and Norah Jones. I also listen to the music of current singers such as Katy Perry and Adele, and I’m a sucker for the crooners, from Frank Sinatra to Josh Groban.

But before I am pressured to make that final decision to buy a flute and escape to the forest, I’ll head down the freeway playing my favorite music. The perfect driving song is Go West, originally by the Village People but perfected by the Pet Shop Boys. Here are some of the understandable lyrics:

Go West. Life is peaceful there. Go West. In the open air.

Go West. Baby you and me. Go West. This is our destiny.

Today’s blog was fueled by a 2011 Salentein Reserve Malbec from Argentina. The intense aroma of blueberries, violets, and vanilla makes your taste buds wake up and holler “Give me some!” But this is one wine that has a fabulous nose but disappoints with taste. I’ll go back to Cabernet. And good music.

Midlife Cabernet: It was a Dark and Stormy Night for a Writer

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I recently participated in a local holiday bazaar and displayed my award-winning books and sassy new calendars and offered a free bottle of wine with every $75 order. I even threw in free sweatbands. The kick-in-the-gut reality set in six hours later when I packed up my display and realized I didn’t make enough money to pay for the entry fee. I should have stayed home and played with Studley.

Many people think that writing a book will bring fame and fortune. In reality it brings that sad moment when your cart breaks and your books fall onto the pavement in the night rain. Added to the frustration is the cruel fact that the few people who straggle into a bazaar located in a hidden gym have no intention of buying a book. Not when there are necklaces made from melted spoons and scented wax that smells like Christmas trees.

The lonely event was organized to promote and celebrate local businesswomen. I brought eight titles that included a national bestseller, three national award winners, and one book that had been adopted by the Idaho Department of Education for the statewide curriculum. I didn’t sell a single book. My heart was as heavy as the boxes I lugged back to my car.

I felt extra guilty because I had encouraged my friend and author AK Turner to join me in the bazaar. We set up our tables, arranged our books, and had our Internet payment connection all ready to go. After a few hours, we realized that our return on investment was negative and our analytical husbands had been correct. Sometimes the truth really sucks.

Of course we made the best of a bad situation. We had a bottle of wine tucked inside my briefcase and sipped out of paper cups. As the evening dragged, another bottle was opened and we drowned our collective sorrow by sharing the fruit of the vine. After awhile we didn’t give a damn if anyone even looked at our books. They didn’t even deserve to look at them!

Writers have this naive optimism that the world will clamor to read their every word when in reality people would rather have some smelly candle or a lopsided pottery vase. Why buy a book written by local authors when you can wear a rhinestone bracelet made in China? Why care that a local entrepreneur spent months crafting random words into creative and clever sentences when there are burp rags selling for $2.00?

After the bazaar, it took several trips back and forth to my car to pack the table, chair, boxes of books, calendars, a case of wine, and supplies. On the last trip, my tote broke and books scattered onto the wet pavement. I fought back tears as I picked up each book, dried it on my sweater, and tossed it into the car. It was as if I were picking up pieces of my heart that nobody wanted. (Seriously, I was really milking the drama of the moment.)

I’m not bitter about the lack of sales. I congratulate the businesswomen who sold spaces for the bazaar. She made a profit. I did not. Therefore, I won’t do it again. Experience is an excellent teacher, and I’m now working on a generic book about a vampire wizard who comes in fifty shades of grey with magical powers that include funky jewelry, an incense burner, and a garden chime. That should be a bestseller.

Today’s blog is fueled by a 2011 Luna Cabernet Sauvignon from California. It’s the perfect anecdote to a demoralized mood and can be found at Crush Wine Bar in Eagle for only $22. Toss in a snickers cupcake and the world is happy once more.

Midlife Cabernet: My Mirror Doesn’t Work

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When my eyesight became weaker, I purchased a new lighted mirror with a 10X magnification so I could apply mascara without guessing the actual location of my eyelashes. The first time I looked into the mirror I screamed and jumped back in horror because there was a ghastly old woman staring back at me! I want my money – and my face – returned!

The illuminated, colossal reflection exaggerated the erratic road map of lines, wrinkles, and crevices that sprouted around my eyes like jagged lightning bolts surrounding deep, bloodshot sinkholes. Why didn’t someone tell me my face resembled a damp shirt that been forgotten in the dryer? At least my friends also have failing eyesight so they may not even notice.

I flipped the mirror over to the normal view and was relieved because my poor vision couldn’t detect any flaws. I prefer that side now. For security and insecurity purposes, I have taped a warning label into the magnified side of the mirror.

It’s called a vanity mirror for a reason, but I refuse to channel my inner Queen of the Snow White movie and ask the mirror on the wall who is the fairest one of all. I know the answer and not even a flamboyant skit by the jolly Seven Dwarfs could make me laugh now because that would just add more unwanted lines.

After surviving the shock of magnified reality, I looked again at my eyes. These green orbs have been dilated, examined, and corrected since I was ten years old. They have peered from dozens of ugly frames that included cat-eyes with rhinestones, black square nerd glasses, and delicate rimless beauties that cost a month’s mortgage and broke every time I sneezed. My eyes survived surgery for holes in both retinas and continued to work after a failed attempt at laser treatment. Best of all, these irreplaceable body parts have allowed me to write and read books and to see the wonders of the world.

These eyes cried with joy when I held my precious babies, widened with amazement when I visited 32 countries around the world, leaked buckets over physical and mental pain, and focused with passion as I stared into my husband’s loving eyes. Six decades of visions are stored within my memories as on-demand movies after a life full of adventure, tears, and laughter that I have been privileged to see and experience. I have earned each and every line around these well-worn eyes, and I intend to earn many more.

Next week I’ll don my newest pair of spectacles and prepare the list for our family Thanksgiving dinner. I’ll check favorite recipes and pull out the good dishes and silverware. I’ll arrange festive pumpkins and colorful leaves into a happy centerpiece and imagine the cacophony coming from the children’s table. Then on the day of the grand feast I’ll witness the generations gathered around the tables squabbling over the last drumstick. With the blessed ability to see, I’ll give thanks for the abundant vision before me.

Today’s blog was fueled by a 2011 Jacuzzi Barbera from Mendocino County, California. I found this complex and vibrant wine on a recent trip to wine country and recommend the explosion of tastes with flavors of blackberry, raspberry, strawberry, and vanilla. Preview their wines at www.jacuzziwines.com. And, it’s okay to pair red wine with turkey.

Midlife Cabernet: Will my Power Cord Work in a Cave?

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I’m being pressured to throw away all electronic devices and go live in a cave in the forest. The one instigating the rebellion is the tiny voice that sporadically echoes through the cob webs in my middle-aged brain and whispers, “They’re all out to destroy you. Run away now.”

The current wave of frustration was caused by a few exasperating problems: my credit card number was fraudulently taken and used to purchase sports equipment in Delaware and a tourist trip to Australia. Then my cell phone died. Then my computer got a virus and went black while I was working on an important project. If I lived in a cave, I’d never experience these annoyances.

It took several days to deal with the issues. My computer returned from the repair shop with a perfect screen and a hefty repair bill. The credit card company canceled the card and the debts, and my cell phone just needed to be recycled. A 10-year-old child could have handled all these problems while simultaneously creating a video and texting 100 of her/his closest friends.

It’s a challenge to keep up with technology, especially because I grew up thinking a keyboard was on a piano, a ram was in the pasture, a cookie was something to eat, and the one telephone in the house was attached to the wall. I wrote papers and short stories on a manual typewriter and was positively giddy to get an IBM Selectric typewriter. Now I take my Ipad on vacation and input, format, copy, and insert my blog with attached pictures onto the World Wide Web. Amazing.

All this marvelous technology that allows me to instantly research facts, pay bills online, book an airline flight, and watch a video on my cell phone also attracts evil scoundrels who steal credit card numbers and send malicious viruses through the Internet. The answer is to spend more time with my small grandchildren. They know how to download an app for that.

Midlife Cabernet: How to Avoid the Pending Doom of Civilization

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If we only relied upon the gruesome stories and gloomy reports in the media, most of us would trade our good silver for canned goods and a case of wine and then escape to a private bunker in the wilderness. We have visions of becoming the leather-clad, weapon-wielding character of Tina Turner in Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome. But most of us could never bend over long enough to fix all the laces and latches on those boots!

Before you feel the pressure to exchange your designer purses for backpacks and trade the cutlery set for Bowie knives, try turning off the news, shutting down the alarmists web sites, and closing the negative magazines. Unplug and walk away from paranoid and exaggerated pessimism that seems to seep like a toxic sludge from every media outlet. Use that time to focus on and participate in all the positive activities in your community and country.

There are volunteer organizations that right now are helping kids learn to read, taking hot meals to lonely senior citizens, building homes for low income families, and assisting special needs children go to school. There are unsung heroes who bring casseroles to widows, donate blood to the local blood bank, and rock sick babies in intensive care. Others are writing inspiring books, composing valiant symphonies, and singing new songs of freedom.

These people don’t make the news. They don’t march in the streets or threaten lawsuits. But they walk among us sharing random acts of goodness. Every day. The next time you have the urge to give up on society and curse the darkness, light a candle and find a cause. And keep the silver.

Midlife Cabernet: Blending the Family Frappé

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Organizing an event with blended families requires the logistical coordination of air traffic controllers with the precision of a computerized dispatcher and the help of a licensed counselor. Uniting yours, mine, ours, and theirs becomes a calculated strategy that turns dates on the calendar into targets for negotiation. There’s a reason we never saw the ex-families on the television show The Brady Bunch.

I grew up in a small community during a time when couples married, had children, and stayed married until they died. Our family gatherings often included more than 30 people – and done were divorced. There was minimal tactical planning required to schedule an event. Times have changed, and sometimes I feel the pressure to make sure everyone is happy. I need to get over that.

At a recent family dinner, we arranged for the step-grandkids to join us along with the step-children and assorted step-grandparents. When most of the grandparents and parents have been divorced and remarried, it’s time to stop with the titles. There’s no more “step” because “family” will do just fine.

Both my children married spouses who already had children. That made me an instant grandma, a position I enjoy and welcome. I have been divorced and then married a man with grown children who became new members of the family. At our children’s events, the other parent is often involved. At my step-son’s high school graduation, I sat next to his mother. At my daughter’s wedding, her father and I both walked her down the aisle, even though we were divorced. We do it for our children. Even the receiving line was fun because our daughter’s happiness was most important.

No one is advocating divorce, but it happens. I admire those parents who negotiate joint custody arrangements using common sense. Holiday and birthday parties are less stressful if the parents coordinate plans and speak without assaulting each other. And, what child wouldn’t want to be spoiled and adored by one of eight different grandparents?