Elaine Ambrose

Bestselling Author, Ventriloquist, & Humorist

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Online Laughter Interview Wednesday on “Flourishing 50s”

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flourish 50 interview ad

I met Kim Acedo at the recent Bloggers at Midlife Conference in Las Vegas and we became best friends. She told me about her online business called “Flourishing 50s,” a community of like-minded and like-hearted women in their 50’s who are committed to learning and growing through focusing on maintaining healthy physical, mental, and emotional lives.  The group also has an emphasis on educating women and girls around the world.

She asked me to share a live interview with her, so we’ve scheduled Wednesday, May 18 at 7:00 pm Mountain Standard Time. I’ll be speaking about humor and why it’s better to laugh than break something. To hear the interview and participate in the regular, empowering activities of the group, you can join them for $17 a month. Find more information at Membership.

Kim is offering a discount for membership if you download her “Transformation Daily 10 Checklist” here: Transformation Wellness.

 

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Kim has a Master’s degree in Kinesiology, is a Certified Health & Wellness Coach, and is the owner of Transformation Wellness for Women where she works with her clients virtually in the comfort of their own home or office. She partners with women in their 50’s who are ready, willing and able to make a healthy change in their lives and coaches them toward improving their lifestyle habits so that they can live a healthier and happier life.

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“I believe that a healthy life is a life you’ll love,” says Kim. “I have been advising women in midlife on their health and wellness since 2000. Working exclusively with women in their 50’s, I specialize in coaching my clients to live their best life through a physical, mental, and emotional transformation. With a background in fitness, nutrition, and wellness coaching, I partner with my clients to discover new ways to improve their Sleep, Food, Mood, and Exercise habits.”

I’ve joined the group, and I look forward to the activities and educational exchanges. It’s never too late to learn new ideas and make new friends.

 

 

 

Searching for Cheekbones

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face injections

I never intended to have hyaluronic acid gel injected into my face, but the physician said he could smooth my nasolabial folds. I love it when a guy talks dirty to me.

“How do you know they need improvement?” I cooed.

“Those are your laugh lines around your mouth,” he answered. “You must laugh a lot.”

Well, yes I do. But I’ve earned every line on my face and I was hesitant to try to cover up the damage from six decades of living out loud. And the procedure involved needles. I hate needles.

I was a speaker at the recent Bloggers at Midlife Conference in Las Vegas, Nevada. The trade show featured demonstrations of Restylane® Lyft with Lidocaine from Galderma. A few women were chosen for the injections, and I obviously appeared to be the perfect “before” candidate. A team of goddess-faced professionals consulted me before showing the tray of syringes and gave me some literature to read.

As noted on the website, the FDA-approved procedure implants hyaluronic acid gel into the deep dermis to superficial subcutis to correct moderate to severe facial folds and wrinkles, such as nasolabial folds, and improve subcutaneous to supraperiosteal implantation for cheek augmentation and correction of age-related midface contour deficiencies in patients over the age of 21. Lucky for me, I was barely over 21.

The demonstration came at no cost, so I decided why not? Like a brave, wrinkled soldier, I assumed the position on the table.

“As long as we’re here, could you perform liposuction my entire body?” I asked.

“We don’t have enough time or big enough equipment,” he answered. What a joker.

The procedure took about 15 minutes. He injected the gel into the lines around my mouth, muttering that he was a great sculpture and I was his work of art. I felt more like a massive lump of pottery clay.

fat face

Then he injected the solution along my cheeks. I’ve been blessed with a round balloon face, so I’ve never seen my cheekbones. I assumed they were in there somewhere. After the injections, I could immediately see the definition on my face. A few more glasses of wine and I would look like Sophia Loren.

A few hours after the injections, I could see that my marionette puppet mouth was less hinged. I could pass for a glamorous 50-year-old. After age 60, it’s all relative.

I appreciate the complimentary lift, and it’s interesting to see the slight contours in my face. I’ve read that some women curtail their laughter so they won’t develop laugh lines. That’s a sacrifice I’m not willing to make. For now, I’ll keep laughing and see if the lines return. We’ll see how interesting my nasolabial folds can become.

 

 

Disclosure: I received the complimentary procedure in exchange for this serious, scholarly post on my blog.

 

 

 

Don’t Dress Like a Yak when Speaking in Public

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yak

If you want to speak in public, there are rules to follow: Pre-check your teeth for broccoli, and tame your irritable bowel syndrome. Remind the audience to turn off cell phones and stay awake because your words could change their lives. Don’t dress like a yak.

This month I spoke at two national conferences and learned the hard way to follow my proven dress code: I should wear black at all times and under all circumstances but throw in a tiny bit of color. Otherwise, I could resemble a large, woolly beast.

At the prestigious Erma Bombeck Writers’ Workshop in Dayton, Ohio, I obeyed my rules. I felt confident in my chosen wardrobe that included a black jacket with a turquoise shell. I was ready to mingle with other speakers and comediennes half my age, and some of us even created entire comedy routines when we met in the bathroom of the hotel. On one occasion, humorists and authors Stacey Lowrey Gustafson and Anne Bardsley posed with me for a festive photo next to the latrines. It was a special moment.

Erma 3 commediennes

More than 350 writers attended the conference, some with an abundant sense of style and a few who didn’t care. I presented two workshops, one on publishing and one on writing humor. Because I’m larger than a bread box but have the same shape, I always wear black. The dark color diminishes my football linebacker shoulders and attempts to hide my super-sized bosom that over the decades has dropped from perky to pendulum. If I know the presentation will be videotaped, I refuse to turn sideways because I will block out any redeemable image. There is a smidgen of pride somewhere buried in that incredible hulk.

For my presentations, I wore a conservative black knit dress and a long black and white tweed sweater. I often felt like a fraud as I encouraged others to have self-confidence and revel in their majesty as I tugged at my jacket to hide the body that longed to be a single-digit size again. But damn, the dessert cart offered cheesecake and it would go to waste if I didn’t have a few samples. And it’s not right to allow a bottle of wine to sit half-empty and forlorn. It must be consumed for the greater good of society.

erma speaker 2016

Two weeks after the Erma Bombeck conference, I spoke at the BAM Bloggers at Midlife Conference in Las Vegas, Nevada. More than 150 attendees came, and I knew I found my tribe. The first night, I wore a black tank top with a colorful long vest. I took a chance on going sleeveless, but no one vomited. I met some best friends I had know for years only online, including Donna Beckman Tagliaferri.

BAM donna elaine crop

However, for my presentation, my brain left my body as I decided to go with an outfit that broke my rules. I chose a long vest again but the material was in a bulky, hairy knit of cream dappled with brown leather squares. I resembled a yak. I knew I had made a mistake as I lumbered to the podium with Emmy Award winning author and screenwriter Judy Rothman Rofe and dynamo author Janie Emaus. They were dressed in solid colors and both were the size of Thumbelina. I wanted to detour out the side door and join my herd of grazing animals on a hillside far, far away.

BAM panel

Our panel discussion was vibrant and informative, and I was grateful for the table that hid half of my body. We breezed through the presentation and no one stood to yell, “Why didn’t you wear black? You always wear black!”

I continued with the outrageous fashion mistakes when I changed into a Vegas-inspired blouse for dinner. In the photos, the silly top looked like a tablecloth and I resembled a retired matron playing cards on a cruise ship. But my friends didn’t seem to mind because I made them look so much better.

BAM Group

The event was salvaged at a Disco-themed night when I happily wiggled into my black dress adored with sparkles and fat-shaping Spandex. As the music permeated the room, I danced with wild abandon and laughed myself silly as I gyrated to the beat of the Bee Gees and ABBA. The Yak died and I became the Dancing Queen. It was Friday night and the lights were low. I was looking out for the place to go. The dress was black but covered with bling. I raised my arms and sang out loud:

“You can dance, you can jive, having the time of your life.

See that girl, watch that scene, digging the Dancing Queen.”

BAM dancer crop

The moral of the story is that some of us are too concerned with wearing basic black when we could add some sparkles and go dancing. After an hour of Disco music, no one really cared what anyone was wearing or if they were even human. It was all a matter of “I Will Survive” while “Staying Alive.”

Why Funny is Fashionable

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old woman laughing

 

You know you’re at peace with yourself and the universe if you can enter a crowded social function, scan the room, and then join the group creating the most laughter. After a certain age, you don’t waste time with pseudo-intellectuals, plastic-faced divas, or over-styled drama queens; especially if they’re your relatives. Just trot your sensible, low-heeled shoes over to those having fun and then laugh until you snort.

Over the years, most women have endured numerous charity galas, corporate soirees, and elegant events that required dressing in more than a “This Wine is Making me Awesome” t-shirt, Yoga pants, and flip-flops (my favorite outfit.) In our twenties and thirties, we started preparing weeks in advance; trying on various outfits, scheduling hair and nail appointments, and crash dieting to lose a few pounds. By our forties, the routine became less rigorous unless the occasion was a dinner party with our boss or a romantic evening with a significant other. Usually, those events did not involve the same person.

By age 50, however, we said screw the rules. We gauged the importance of an event by the need to shave our legs or not. What to wear came down to what garment would hide last week’s lasagna binge. There was a time when identical outfits would have caused one of us to retreat to the coat closet and desperately paw for something to throw over our shoulders. Now if I’m attending a fancy function and see another woman wearing a replica of my dress, I congratulate her on her exquisite taste. If she’s over 50, she’ll laugh and say, “Got it on sale for only $150!” We high-five and sashay to the wine bar.

Another scene to avoid forever is the Sugar Daddy with Arm Candy couple. She’ll be giggling about play dates and nannies and he’ll be sweating and adjusting his pacemaker. If the hostess seats you next to such a twosome, feign a sudden onset of gastrointestinal flu and discreetly find another table, preferably with a middle-age couple who are holding hands and laughing. It doesn’t matter if they came together.

High fashion is not my top priority. I usually wear classic, quality clothes that have timeless appeal, such as my favorite 10-year-old St. John knit jackets. They cost a fortune new but I’ve worn them for years and they always look good. And, I’m a strong advocate of the simple black dress adorned with fun accessories. And there is no way these well-traveled feet will ever again feel the inside of a high-heeled shoe. That just won’t happen because high-heels are painful and I choose not to hurt. An elongated calf perched on a $300 strip of leather just doesn’t matter that much.

While laughing with new and old friends at a society event, it’s tempting to sneak a peek at the younger, more perfect women. They arrive with a flair of confidence, pause to pose on their six-inch heels, and jut their tiny, sequin-covered bodies into the spotlight. Yes, they are proud of their flat-stomachs, bobbing cleavages, and toned arms. Their hair, makeup, and nails are flawless, and heads turn in appreciation. I immediately start humming “The Girl from Ipanema.”

When she walks, she’s like a samba

That swings so cool and sways so gentle

That when she passes, each one she passes

Goes “A-a-a-h.”

I never was that woman, not even on my most magnificent occasion. But, I’m finally happy in my own skin, every wrinkled, spotted inch of it. I’d much rather be with the witty group, the ones who are telling humorous stories, and the ones who know that Ipanema Girl someday will be fifty. Then she, too, will know that funny is fashionable.

The Sweet Memory of Rocking Babies

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emily one week

Science says the emotion of love comes from a chemical reaction in the brain. I think love spontaneously erupts from our heart when we rock our babies or laugh with our lover. The feeling is more powerful than any other, and I’d like to order some more, in great quantities. I need to stock the pantry.

My first experience with unconditional love came one week after my daughter was born. I have a favorite photograph of me rocking her. The bruises on her head still are visible from the grip of forceps. After 22 hours in labor, the doctor actually anchored his foot on the bed and pulled her from my body. At almost 10 pounds, she was too big to be born without the instrument. She had a fetal monitor in her head and I was trapped underneath an oxygen mask. The nurse rushed her to the neonatal intensive care unit and her Apgar score was an alarming 3. I didn’t get to see or hold her for eight hours.

The attending pediatrician informed me there could be brain damage because of the rough delivery. I remember closing my eyes and begging, praying for help to meet the unknown challenges. A week later, when the photograph was taken, I was completely at peace and in love with my baby.

There wasn’t any brain damage, and now she is a happy, energetic young adult with an adoring family. I’ve watched her as she rocks her own children. She, too, knows the power of unconditional love.

Now that my empty nest is filled with other priorities and distractions, I have time to reflect on what matters. If I could go back and choose favorite times in my life, they would include rocking my sweet babies. As a young mother, I didn’t know what the future would bring, but I was fulfilled and grateful for the warm weight of my child upon my chest.

One more time of rocking them and singing soft lullabies; that’s all I would want. How can I order such a day?