Elaine Ambrose

Bestselling Author, Ventriloquist, & Humorist

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Riding Shotgun through a Blizzard in an 18-Wheeler

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During the winter of my junior year at the University of Idaho, harsh storms dumped a record amount of snow on northern Idaho. My parents sent me an airplane ticket to fly the 400-mile distance from Lewiston to Twin Falls to come home for Christmas, but I arrived in Lewiston and the airport was closed due to bad weather. I called Dad and he said to call back in thirty minutes. I called back and he said he had rerouted one of his 18-wheel trucks from Missoula, Montana to get me.

A few hours later, a snow-covered Montana Express truck arrived at the airport. I hopped in and expressed my gratitude, but the two drivers were not in a jolly mood. The diversion added 15 hours to their journey and the roads included the old Whitebird Hill, a switchblade, two-lane, dangerous route in a snowstorm at night in the middle of nowhere.

“This will be some adventure!” I said, trying to stay positive.

“We just drove through a blizzard on LoLo Pass,” said Dub Brownlee, a driver I had known for 15 years. “We could be home now, but we’ll get you home in about 12 hours.”

“I hope Dad rewards you,” I said.

“Oh, he will!” came a voice from the sleeper. I recognized the voice of Claude Odem, a long-time driver. Because I was a passenger, the second driver needed to stay in the sleeper.

The old White Bird Hill was dangerous in good weather – treacherous in a snowstorm.

We drove through the snowstorm and finally reached the treacherous Whitebird Hill. At an elevation of 4,400 feet, the snow was thick and blinding. The windshield wipers barely kept the top layer of snow off the windshield. There were no other drivers on the road. As the big rig inched along the switchblade turns, I could look out the window and occasionally see the edge of the road that disappeared over the sides into steep canyons. One slip of a back wheel, and we would be over the edge and not found until the spring thaw. Brownlee kept both hands on the wheel and leaned forward to keep the truck on the road. I didn’t dare tell him I had to go to the bathroom. I held that urge for another hour.

We approached the bottom of the grade as the wind blew the snow sideways across the windshield. My hands ached from holding onto the seat.

“I’m getting too tired,” moaned Brownlee. “If I fall asleep, just grab the wheel and ease onto the brake pedal.”

I looked at him, eyes wide and mind terrified. Then he winked. He enjoyed a good ten minutes of laughter after that joke. I couldn’t laugh because I would wet my pants.

We arrived in Wendell the next morning. Driving the journey in a car on dry roads took eight hours, but this journey was unique. My dad handed the drivers a thick envelope I assumed was full of cash. Over the years, Brownlee would remind me of his valiant sacrifice to get me home for Christmas. I replied that I enjoyed being his favorite cargo.

Ambrose Trucking, 1952, with my brother and father

(This excerpt is from my memoir, “Frozen Dinners.”)

Montana Express Trucking

#amwriting, #trucking, #Idaho, #MontanaExpress, #memoir,

Here’s Why Narrators Can’t Cry

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In this excerpt from the audiobook of my memoir Frozen Dinners,my emotions cause my voice to falter when I’m reading about my mother. I tell the sound engineer I’m imagining a clown falling out of a clown car so I can regain my composure, start over with the paragraph, and finish the chapter.

The audiobook will be released September 10. Support your local bookstore and order through:

https://libro.fm/audiobooks/9781515933793-frozen-dinners

To order through Amazon, click here:

https://www.amazon.com/Frozen-Dinners-Memoir-Fractured-Family/dp/B07X61TFB8/ref=tmm_aud_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=&sr=

“Frozen Dinners” Sells 873 eBooks During March

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Ambrose Trucking, 1952
873 eBooks Sold in March

Frozen Dinners – A Memoir of a Fractured Family sold more than 28 eBooks every day during the month of March for a delightful total of 873. The memoir was published in November 2018 by Brown Books Publishing . Hardback books are selling well across the country, and the eBooks started to gain traction in February. The 873 eBooks sold were on Amazon Kindle, and additional eBooks were sold on Barnes & Noble Nook, KOBO, and Apple iTunes. During March, the eBook sold well in several foreign countries, including the United Kingdom, India, Canada, and Australia.

The eBook ranked #7 in a memoir category on Amazon. According to Just Publishing Advice, there are more than 4.8 million eBooks on Amazon Kindle.

Ambrose Trucking, 1954

The memoir describes the author’s childhood in the Idaho village of Wendell, Idaho, and explains how her father rose from poverty to build a multi-million-dollar trucking empire hauling frozen food throughout the Northwest. After his untimely death, his survivors implode in a maelstrom of brutal courtroom drama, illness, and dementia. The author spends half a century searching for love and warmth beyond the contaminated legacy of her fractured family. Now the author’s parents and brothers have died, and the family and the fortune are all gone.

The author discussed her memoir in a podcast for “Magnificent Midlife Woman” with Sheree Clark. Listen to the interview here.

Books are available from local bookstores and online. EBooks are on Amazon Kindle, KOBO, iTunes, and Nook. The audio version will be available in the summer.

Memoir Reviewed by Acclaimed Idaho Author

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My memoir Frozen Dinners is available on Amazon for pre-order. Brown Books Publishing has announced a release date for November 2018 to secure holiday promotion and purchases. Watch for the local premiere party, complete with TV dinners!

I appreciate this review from Kim Barnes, author of the Pulitzer Prize Finalist Memoir: In the Wilderness: Coming of Age in Unknown Country

“Full of luscious details, clear-eyed compassion, and enduring joy, Ambrose’s memoir gives us an insider’s view of one family’s rocky pursuit of the American Dream. Even when she is relating personal stories of conflict, loss, and grief, Ambrose does so with a survivor’s voice made strong by experience, stubbornness, humor, and love.”

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I worked on the manuscript for 20 years. My mother’s death in 2014, followed last year by the death of my younger brother George, convinced me to complete the book. The memoir tells the story of my father Neal Ambrose, born in Wendell, Idaho, as he climbed out of poverty and created an extensive fortune through trucking and farming enterprises. In the early 1950s, he established one of the first trucking companies in the country to haul frozen TV dinners, and during the 1960s, his farming operations introduced the first pivot sprinklers in southern Idaho. The pivots allow sprinkler pipes to rotate around a center pump to water crops.

However, the family lived in a state of emotional paralysis, and after my father’s death, everything was destroyed as the assets were squandered, the companies closed, and hundreds of employees lost their jobs. A chapter titled “Judgement Day” describes a brutal courtroom scene where a ruthless Boise attorney badgered my 77-year-old mother until she wet her pants. Another chapter devoted to her is titled “The Book of Leona.” The memoir concludes with my half-century journey to find warmth beyond the contaminated legacy of frozen dinners.

While ripping open the scars to write the book, I covered the wounds with healing humor and wrote Menopause Sucks, Midlife Cabernet, and Midlife Happy Hour.  I’m eager to return to writing humor.

Click this link for pre-ordering details about the hard cover edition: Frozen Dinners

 

 

The Good Brother

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george art

My brother George Ambrose died yesterday. His health had been declining, so my husband Ken and I drove 130 miles to Twin Falls, Idaho, to meet him at a restaurant overlooking the Snake River Canyon; a fixture from our childhood. He told funny stories, we drank wine, and we helped him to his pickup. He drove home and died a few hours later.

My usual response to pain is to crack jokes. After I learned of his passing, I asked, “But he ordered the house wine!”

He could have ordered top shelf anything, but he wasn’t like that. As much as we were similar in our ability to tell stories, sing, laugh, and savor good food, we were different because he was a humble, quiet man. My obnoxious public antics often embarrassed him, but we remained close in spirit if not in proximity.

george elaine

Because he can’t stop me now, I’m going to write about him so others can appreciate his goodness. He was a talented artist. The drawing above was done when my older brother left home and shows my mother sobbing as she holds Little George’s hand while he’s grinning. My father plays a fiddle on top of one of his 18-wheel trucks. At the time, my father also owned about 6,000 hogs, hence the use of pigs in the artwork. (I’m not in the picture, but that’s for the memoir.)

george ui robe

George wasn’t encouraged to pursue his love of art because he was needed to help run the trucking company after he graduated from college. George also loved to sing; another passion that was discounted in the family work ethic requirements. He and I both were members of the Vandaleer Concert Choir at the University of Idaho. The Vandaleers only traveled on two tours outside the United States. I went with the choir to Europe, and five years later he traveled with the choir when it toured South America. I have a favorite photo that shows him adjusting my academic chords before graduation. He threatened to strangle me if I didn’t hold still.

george portrait

Another memory is when were performed in the talent show at school. I was in high school and he was in junior high. I performed an original poem titled, “My Mommy Spanked My Bottom.” He did a reading of “The Cremation of Sam McGee” by Robert Service. We won First and Second Place, which caused criticism from the town folk who thought we hogged the awards. The Robert Service poem continues to be popular in folklore and poetry. My poem, not so much.

One fun adventure with George and Marti, his wife of 30 years, was when they took Ken and me to Jackpot, Nevada to see the comedy show performed by “Larry, the Cable Guy.” I laughed and snorted for two hours.  I recommend that to anyone.

My father’s health deteriorated when George was in his mid-twenties, and George took over most of the daily duties of the trucking company and the farms. After my dad died in 1989, George became the owner of Montana Express. For relaxation, he loved to fly his small plane, and continued flying until he could no longer pass the physical test. On the day he died, a friend took George and Marti flying one last time. The altitude change was bad for his health, but he went anyway. Then he drove to Twin to meet us at the restaurant.

I had no idea that was the last time I would see him. We talked about arranging a family get-together at a restaurant in Hagerman. He nodded. But, there was something in his eyes. I couldn’t stop staring at them. There was a glow that saw something beyond me that I couldn’t see. Now I believe he was making the transition to another realm, and to be included in that moment, I am honored and humbled. (Ha! He would love that!) At his request, there won’t be a funeral.

george dad me

My father died at age 60. George was 61. I’ve outlived both and am getting nervous. I’m motivated to enjoy every day and will try to avoid crabby people, create some laughter, and hug my family. I treasure the memories of George, and I promise to live better. I probably won’t become as humble as he was, but I’ll try. God speed, Little Brother. Follow the light.

george with family

 

How to Thaw a Cold Childhood and Create a Warm Family

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ambrose truck elaine tom

Grown-up Me traveled to a conference in Nashville last week to speak to a national gathering of women bloggers. I smiled with confidence and prepared to meet, greet, and tweet. Then I noticed the conference sponsor — a frozen food company introducing a new product — and Grown-up Me disappeared. A small child stood in my place.

As the Little Girl Me, I felt the business clothes hang loosely on my youthful frame and my small feet wobble in the heeled shoes. I stared at the compact packages of frozen meals as the stage and podium turned into the cold dining room from my past. Again, I was a sad girl in need of comfort food that never came.

I grew up eating frozen dinners on disposable aluminum trays that provided exact portions of mixed vegetables, a meat concoction, manufactured potatoes and bland apple crisp or a meek cherry cobbler. My father was a stern, successful workaholic who built a trucking empire in the 1960s hauling frozen food and TV dinners throughout the Northwest. He was gone during the week, driving trucks from California to Montana, then back to California. He’d stop by our house in Idaho and leave a box of frozen dinners. And then he was gone again.

2015-03-14-1426303766-4883513-ambrosetruck.png

My mother dutifully heated and handed the aluminum trays to her children, and we ate in silence. As a stubborn girl, I defied the orderly presentation and pushed the wrinkled peas into the potatoes and plopped the dessert onto the meat. It all tasted the same, anyway. As we consumed our meal, I wondered how it would be to live in a place of warmth, peace and laughter. I longed for a hearty homemade meal shared with a happy family, so I made it my mission to have that scenario.

You can relate to my story if you spent your childhood sitting silently around a table in a cold room, chilled from within, following a predictable pattern that would repeat for years. As a young girl, I vowed to someday come in from the cold when I had a family of my own. Decades later, I finally realized my childhood dream of living in a warm, loving home full of laughter. Challenges remain, as in all situations, but my table is covered with home-cooked food and surrounded by contented grown children and giggling grandkids.

Here are some life lessons that can help navigate beyond a cold childhood:

You are not disposable. Just as the trays from frozen dinners were tossed into the garbage, I often felt unwanted during my childhood. After I left home and financially supported myself, I felt the first taste of freedom. I finally mattered, and my skills were worthy of a paycheck.

You can create your own path. My adult journey often was treacherous as I took risks to find a better life. I stumbled, fell and had to start over several times. But, I always stood, brushed off the dirt and kept going because I knew what I didn’t want and what I wanted. I worked at several jobs and found better ones. I attended cooking classes and registered for cooking tours to visit other cultures and learn how to make special dishes. I earned enough money to purchase quality plates, silverware and glasses that weren’t tossed into the garbage after every meal. I married, divorced and remarried and finally found my forever love. My children survived many meager meals while they were young, but we survived together. After many years of trial and error, we finally got to enjoy dessert.

You can envision and achieve your goals. My desire to provide and enjoy a warm home was fueled by the vision of a festive holiday table. Over the past few years, I’ve dined at such a table and thankfully watched my adult children and grandchildren laugh, tell stories and barter for the last piece of pie. Then my husband will offer a toast, and we’ll raise our glasses in celebration. This spontaneous merriment often leads to multiple toasts.

Your parents had struggles, too. I didn’t get along with either of my parents, and we were all happy when I finally went away to college. Looking back, I have developed a new empathy for them. They did the best they could as they battled health, economic, and relationships issues. They have both passed away, and I regret not trying one more time to kindle a small spark that would have bonded us together. As their legacy, I will honor them with positive thoughts and not dwell on sad memories.

Acceptance is liberating. Now I have the maturity to appreciate the work my father did to advance his business success and support the family. But the wealth came with a price. Every mile he drove, he purposely placed distance between himself and his family. Even after he stopped driving and had accumulated the resources to buy more trucks and hire other drivers, the house remained cold. I used this experience to motivate my own search for emotional and physical nourishment.

Family mealtime is an important ritual that forms the basis of childhood memories. Successful dinners don’t need to be cooked from scratch from original recipes. Frozen entrees are a handy substitute after a hectic day and the family needs to eat before midnight. A home-cooked meal or a microwaved dinner can be the centerpiece of an abundant family feast; it all depends upon the warmth in the room, not just from the dish.

Back at the conference in Nashville, Little Girl Me held out my hands and accepted the offering of warm macaroni and cheese cups from the representative. Grown-up Me smiled and said, “Thank you.” You can’t go wrong with macaroni and cheese, the proven comfort food. “Frozen Dinners” is now just a metaphor, a birthmark that someday I will turn into a memoir.

 

(Featured on The Huffington Post Fifty on March 16, 2015)