Elaine Ambrose

Bestselling Author, Ventriloquist, & Humorist

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Singing Backup with the Angels

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In December of 1962, the village of Wendell, Idaho hummed and bustled with excitement during preparation for the holidays. We were farmers and the crops had been harvested, stored, or sold, so it was time to organize and rehearse the Christmas programs in the schools and churches.

Mary Holsinger, the doctor’s wife, volunteered every year to direct the children’s choir at the Presbyterian Church. I was ten years old and eagerly joined the Sunday School Choir. For the performance, we wore starched white bibs with big red bows.

I found my voice during rehearsal for “Angels We Have Heard on High.” As the chorus stretched out the word “Gloria,” I opened my mouth and produced a sound that shocked and impressed Mrs. Holsinger.

“You can sing!” she said, almost in disbelief that the disheveled class clown had any redeeming value. “Let’s sing this again.”

As if prompted by the harking of the herald angels, the children’s choir erupted in a harmonious rendition of the famous song written one hundred years earlier in 1862. I took the chorus to new heights of volume and passion as I hit the high notes and slid down the musical scale to reach “in excelsis Deo!” My love of the music equaled my adoration of the Christ Child, somewhere away in a manger.

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I continued singing in choirs throughout high school and college and was selected for the prestigious Vandaleer Concert Choir at the University of Idaho. We toured Europe in 1971 and I sobbed because of the glorious sounds as we harmonized while singing Handel’s “Messiah” in ornate cathedrals in France, Germany, Holland, and England. It was a long way from Wendell.

After college, I became the wedding singer. The best I ever performed was when I stood in the upper alcove in the St. Stanislaus Roman Catholic Church in Lewiston and sang “The Lord’s Prayer” and “Ave Maria” in Latin for the wedding mass of my sorority sister. I felt so filled with the spirit that I could have floated over the congregation and blessed everyone with everlasting gratitude, world peace, and abundant joy to the world. I wish I could recapture that feeling.

After years of singing at weddings, I was demoted to be the family funeral singer. The mood was different when standing in front of crying people while trying to do justice to “Amazing Grace.” I still cringe when I remember screeching off-key at Aunt Buff’s service. After that, I didn’t sing at any more funerals.

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Now, my singing is limited to when I take a shower or drive my car. I still can belt out feisty renditions of songs from Tina Turner or Carole King, but my audience is as limited as my range. I can’t hit the high notes anymore, and the low notes sound anemic. Of all the singing, my favorite songs always will be the lullabies I softly sang to my babies and to my grandchildren as they drifted off to sleep in heavenly peace.

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I humbly thank Mary Holsinger and the Virgin Mary for inspiring me to sing about angels bending near the earth to touch their harps of gold. Maybe someday I can be a backup singer on the tour bus to Heaven. Hallelujah.

Don’t Vomit on a US Senator

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“Have you ever been on live television before?” the KMVT-TV news director asked.

“Yes,” I answered. It wasn’t a lie. When I was five years old I had been a guest on the children’s show on KMVT with the host named Happy Holly. In college, I had concentrated on print journalism and had taken only one required class in Radio-Television but had never participated in a live interview or telecast.

I had just graduated from the University of Idaho, my mother was worried that I didn’t have a boyfriend, and my father was worried I didn’t have a job. I decided employment was the more important issue.

I drove to the station in Twin Falls and asked for a job that didn’t exist. At the time, I was full of young naivety that I could do anything. The news team and the station manager asked me to read for the camera, and I performed as if I knew what I was doing. That day I was offered a full-time job at $450 a month with a raise in three months. With that, I became Idaho’s first female television news reporter and talk show hostess. It was 1973, and I was 21 years old.

The station in Twin Falls provided the only television channel in southern Idaho, and the nightly newscast attracted more than 30,000 avid viewers. Twin Falls was not a major market, but it was my start in business and my first full-time job. I loved it.

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KMVT-TV News Crew, 1973-1974

Only one month after college graduation I was holding a microphone and interviewing Idaho Senator Frank Church. Another time, I interviewed Congressman Orval Hansen on the steps of the nation’s capital. For the first time in my life, my parents no longer referred to me as the Problem Child. Instead, I became the television personality they personally had molded and supported from birth. The blinking red light on the top of the live studio camera became intoxicating with its access into homes and businesses I would never see.

I learned on the job how to load film into the camera, set it on a tripod, rush in front to interview a guest, then turn off the camera, drive back to the station, develop the film in the dark room in the basement, write the script, and deliver the news live on the air. I scoff now like a crusty curmudgeon when I see elaborate news teams with multiple employees dashing about performing tasks I did alone.

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One harrowing news assignment still makes me queasy. I traveled in a helicopter with Senator James McClure, a nationally recognized leader in energy and natural resources. Our job was to tour wilderness areas in western Idaho in support of the senator’s campaign to preserve the Hells Canyon Recreation Area. In addition to interviewing the senator, I also filmed the excursion with an old Bolex camera using black-and-white film. I had no formal training in filming, but had learned by watching the other newsmen. As the helicopter took off and rose straight up, I pointed my camera out the window and began filming.

That’s when I learned about vertigo and nausea. The erratic motions of the helicopter combined with the focus on filming made me nauseous. I blinked back tears and swallowed hard to quell the disruption from my stomach. Suddenly the helicopter lurched and I lost my composure and my lunch. A ghastly stream of soupy vomit spewed from my mouth onto the senator’s expensive trousers. For one brief but terrifying moment, our eyes met and there was no affection between us. Only puke.

“Throw me out,” I begged, dropping the camera and wiping my mouth with the skirt of my favorite blue dress.

The senator and his assistant grabbed some tissue paper and attempted to clean up the mess. The co-pilot tossed back a towel and I buried my face, wondering if I should play dead. The stench in the small craft became overpowering, and I vaguely remember hearing the pilot announce that we needed to head back. It seemed to take five years to return to the airport.

I rushed to my car and drove to my apartment where I threw away the dress, climbed into the shower, and tried to wash away the evidence of being a loser. Vomiting on a United States Senator was not included in my job description. I returned to the television station without the camera or my pride.

Years later, Senator McClure and I became good friends. He excused my outrageous conduct and said he’d seen worse behavior in Congress. He also joked that I’d given new meaning to his memory of Hells Canyon.

Those early days of television provided the opportunity to meet many important people, from the Sheepman of the Year to volunteers trying to improve living conditions for local migrant workers. The politicians came and went away, but I’ll always remember Senators Church and McClure. They were from opposing political parties, but they worked together on important issues. Their example of leadership and statesmanship doesn’t exist anymore, and that’s a national tragedy. Maybe we should return to the days when our elected leaders weren’t afraid to get dirt on their shoes and puke on their clothes as they worked to preserve the land and save the country. I’d volunteer to go along on that ride, with a baggie.

 

Attend an In-State University to Save Money and Get a Job

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Graduates tossing caps into the air

I’m amused by all the fuss, frustration and foolish angst many parents and students endure as they travel across the country to various colleges and universities in search of the perfect match. In my educated opinion, most 18-year-old high school graduates don’t have a clue what they want to study, so why waste time and money seeking Big Name or Ivy League schools that eagerly take your fortune but don’t provide the stately claims offered in their glossy brochures?

My friend Nancy and I recently attended an elegant cocktail party and it seemed that every parent was discussing the college dilemma and how they were supporting their precious offspring, both financially and emotionally. The host sauntered over to us and began to announce that he had been paying more than $100,000 a year for his daughter to attend a prestigious college “back east.”

“What is her major?” I asked.

“Well, she’s not sure but she’s considering working for a non-profit organization.” He seemed smug in his answer.

Nancy choked on her martini.

“You’re going to spend almost half a million dollars for her to work in non-profit?” she asked. “That’s a noble profession but I think she could obtain a less expensive education.”

I gave her a quick look that implied she should go light on the alcohol.

The host seemed offended by her question and replied with a certain all-knowing attitude. “Well, Idaho just doesn’t offer the educational experience she needed.”

Nancy wouldn’t let it go. I stepped aside and prepared to enjoy what was coming next.

“My two children attended the University of Idaho, graduated debt-free within four years with degrees in business, and now they’re in their late twenties and make more than six figures a year.”

The host stood speechless and then frantically glanced across the room to find a way to escape from our common sense conversation. He spotted a more sympathetic victim and walked away.

Nancy and I exchanged glances and laughed. We’d known each other for decades, ever since we met in Girls State in 1968. She was the confident student leader from a huge Boise high school and I was the goofball from the village of Wendell. We met again at the University of Idaho in 1969 and have remained close friends. After majoring in journalism, we entered the workforce debt-free and enjoyed successful careers in Idaho. We remain loyal alumni and appreciate the skills learned and relationships forged at our in-state university.

 

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Most states have excellent universities and trade schools that offer less expensive choices, especially for the first two years when students take required core classes. Parents who own property are paying the taxes to support those schools, so why pay out-of-state tuition somewhere else? Often, the state universities have excellent job placement records, and isn’t that the reason students attend?

According to financial advice on CNN Money, the tuition, room and board at Harvard University in Boston, Massachusetts is approximately $64,492, not counting grants and scholarships. By comparison, the tuition, room and board at the University of Idaho total $19,241, excluding grants or scholarships. The annual in-state tuition is $6,784 and out-of-state tuition is $20,314. In-state tuition at the small community college in Twin Falls, Idaho is only $3,880. Most of the students have outside jobs and places to live, so room and board isn’t always a factor. Here’s a fact to personalize the issue: my brother graduated from Harvard University and I graduated from the University of Idaho. I enjoyed a more successful career and a happier life.

 

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I’ve been the commencement speaker at both the University of Idaho and the College of Southern Idaho. I urged the students not to get or increase their student loans, but I could tell by the groans from the audience that my advice came too late. Student loan debt is becoming a national financial disaster. According to MarketWatch, the $1.2 trillion in student loan debt may be preventing Americans from making the kinds of big purchases that drive economic growth, like houses and cars, and reaching other milestones, such as having the ability to save for retirement or move out of mom and dad’s basement. Updated statistics as of 2022: Total student loan debt is expected to exceed $2 trillion by 2024.

Check recent statistics:

https://mycreditsummit.com/student-loan-debt-statistics/

I know a woman who owes more than $100,000 in student loans and is working on a Masters Degree in Fine Arts. She’s never worked a full-time job and her biggest return on investment will be more debt as she struggles for the rest of her life to make the monthly payments on her loans. The government is a benevolent giver of taxpayer money but demands repayment, with interest. I believe the student loan program is a calculated way to make young people indebted to the government. Students would do better to take a year off from school and work full-time to save money for college tuition. That doesn’t mean they are entitled to a “gap year” to go find themselves as someone else pays their way.

To earn and save money during college, I lived with my parents and worked during the summer and on Christmas and Spring Breaks. I was the first female in my family to graduate from college and did so at age 21. Two weeks after graduation I was working full-time in an exciting career, grateful for the opportunity to do what I loved: write, promote and pay the bills. My college experience gave me freedom and opportunities that changed my life as I focused on one main goal: work at a rewarding job, support myself and use my talents to live the best life possible. Go, Idaho.

Midlife Cabernet – College, Careers, and Colonoscopies

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A delayed flight has me stranded in the Spokane airport so I’m sampling a flight of red wine at the Vintage Washington wine bar. So far, the Townshend blend is winning over the Indian Wells Cabernet or the Canoe Ridge Merlot, but the night is young and I have two more hours to wait. The Cab could easily pull out a win, so I will continue my dedicated research. (Hint to travelers: A flight of three choices is less expensive than two glasses.)

I’m coming home after a splendid time laughing and storytelling with sorority sisters. We met as college freshman at the University of Idaho more than forty years ago, and we were the first generation of career women. Our mothers didn’t work outside the home, and we had few role models for working women so we pulled up our big girl pants and figured out what to do. Now, at the end of our careers, we can relax and turn to other important issues, such as Cabernet and Colonoscopies.

Interesting facts: All six of us graduated from the University, three earned master’s degrees, and one has a Ph.D. One is a Vice Chancellor at the University of Tennessee, one is the Dean of the College of Letters and Social Sciences at the U of I, and one is a nationally published author. The other three are college instructors and retired teachers. We have 12 children – all gainfully employed – and not one wears a dog collar or has been in jail. We all have daughters and our main advice to them was: Be able to support yourself.

We worked when there were few childcare options, and we survived on five hours of sleep a night. After a day’s work, we fed and bathed our children, read them stories, tucked them into bed, and then we did white laundry on Monday, dark laundry on Tuesday, sheets and towels on Wednesday, and bought groceries on Thursday. We juggled piano lessons, Little League, and teacher conferences without a cell phone or computer. We paved the way as mentors for younger women who often didn’t appreciate the jungle we cleared so they could waltz through.

We have shared weddings, pregnancies, and the death of parents. Four of us have been married more than 30 years to the original husband, and two of us have been divorced and remarried. Four of us have grandkids and we’re positively giddy than we’ll have four in kindergarten in the fall. We’re already planning their future marriages to each other. The six of us have different political and religious beliefs, but that’s secondary to our main truth: We are true friends.

During the past three days, we have laughed ourselves silly while consuming copious quantities of Cabernet and platters piled with decadent desserts. We reflect on our lives, share our stories, and commiserate about health issues. Yes, we will endure those horrible colonoscopies and mammograms because we want to live long enough to enjoy more parties. We intend to march boldly into old age and tell any detractors to kiss our attitudes. And, we’ll never forget the day we rushed into the Delta Gamma sorority in Moscow and loudly proclaimed, “We are sisters.”

Today’s blog is sponsored by the red flight of wine at the Vintage Washington wine bar in the Spokane airport. Only $14 for the wine and $12 for the cheese plate. That’s the perfect way to end a splendid function with forty-year friends.

Midlife Cabernet: It’s Okay to Run Away

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Are you stressed and tired? Are you being unjustly criticized and mentally assaulted by obnoxious people (including relatives, co-workers, and strangers who flip you off in traffic)? Do you feel like crap because your exercise bike is a clothes hanger and you just finished a one-pound bag of M&Ms? (I see you nodding in agreement.) Well, there is only one solution to end this misery. Run away.

You can plan your escape on a whim or take several months to organize the scheme. These are a few of my favorites, and the first requirement is that you turn off your cell phone. Yes, you must.

  1. The Spontaneous, Easy, and Cheap Fling. If you only have an hour, bring your lunch to work and leave at noon. If you have a car, play some rhythm and blues and drive to a park. If you don’t have transportation, listen to music on your Ipod and walk slowly to the nearest quiet space. Just sit there, munch on your food (include at least one cookie), and then close your eyes. Do nothing but meditate as you listen to the music. Then return to work refreshed and rejuvenated.
  2. The Delightful Day Break. Take a vacation day just for yourself and mark it on the calendar a month in advance. Hike in the hills, read a book, write a short story, plant some flowers, or if your budget allows, spend a few hours at the local spa. By the end of the blissful day, expect some immediate crisis involving at least one of your children, your elderly parent, or your plumbing. But, you’ll be pleasant, positive, and ready for any emergency. No Prozac required.
  3. The Total Indulgent Escape. This week I ran away to New York City. I’m a volunteer member of a board that was meeting but I wasn’t planning to attend. Then there was a death in the family, I moved my invalid mother to a different assisted living facility, a relative called and yelled at me, I got the Head Cold from Hell, there were problems with a book I was publishing, and I gained five pounds. So, I did the only thing that made sense: I bought a discounted flight and left for the city.

A farmer’s daughter from Idaho going to New York City is similar to Dorothy seeing the Emerald City in The Wizard of Oz. Humming “Somewhere Over the Rainbow,” I hit the Big Apple running as if being chased by flying monkeys. In three days, I attended the meeting, laughed until I snorted at a hilarious Broadway musical, toured the Steinway piano factory, meandered through the Metropolitan Museum of Art, took a solemn trip to Ground Zero, watched a performance at the Lincoln Center, and ate and drank fabulous food and wine.

On the last evening, two friends and I found Nizza Bar a Vin Italienne, a delightful Italian wine bar, and sat outside consuming fresh gnocchi, shrimp salad, and crusty bread. Of course, we consumed a bottle of Barbera wine presented by a perky waitress who was determined to become a Broadway star. We watched as police closed the street and a crew prepared a movie scene for actor Liam Neeson. My runaway excursion had been the perfect remedy.

Studley, my heroic and understanding husband, was waiting at the airport, and we hugged and kissed like long-lost lovers. Then he asked if I wanted to go find a place for dinner. I shook my head and said, “There’s no place like home.”

Today’s blog was fueled by a healing bottle of 2005 Barbera D’Alba wine from Italy. You can consume it while watching a famous actor in New York City or enjoy the wine on your patio. Either option has its rewards.

Midlife Cabernet: Why You Should Read Obituaries

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What is the summary of your life? Most of us are somewhere between “convicted felon” and “millionaire philanthropist.” For an interesting assignment, find some random obituaries and read about what happened to people between birth and death. Then write your own. Whatever your story will be, make it sassy enough so others will say, “What a grand life she had!”

Many, many years ago, to earn my degree in journalism from the University of Idaho my last requirement was to complete an internship at the Lewiston Tribune. I eagerly anticipated that I would write compelling, award-winning feature stories to be published on the front page under my huge byline. Instead, I was assigned to write obituaries.

The job did not require talent in creative writing, investigative journalism, or serious analysis. My task was to condense a person’s life to a few paragraphs, spell the name correctly, and include funeral details. Initially, I resented the assignment but soon grew to appreciate the information and anecdotes about the dearly departed. I often imagined extra details about who they were and what they did.

Now when I begin each morning with coffee and the newspaper, I read the front page, swear about politics, and then turn to the obituaries. I study the smiling faces of strangers, and I calculate how many were younger than I am. Then I read their stories.

The black-and-white photos of children always bring a tear, and I grieve along with their parents, brothers, sisters, and grandparents. The older people have the best obituaries because they often include fascinating facts about being rugged pioneers, former ballerinas, independent cowboys, brave soldiers, happy homemakers, or those who fought courageous battles with cancer and now rest in the arms of Jesus.

The short obituaries cause me to wonder why the person only had one paragraph of life worth mentioning. Maybe no one knew the hobbies, adventures, and family that might have been. Maybe the survivors didn’t want to pay for a longer article. Or, maybe that is what the person wanted, and who am I to question why there were no funeral services?

When I conduct writing workshops for teenagers, I often advise them to write their own obituaries. After an initial hesitation they get to work and usually produce confident predictions of being the future president, inventor, movie star, or football hero. Their long and happy lives will be full of loving children and grand adventures, and then a park or building will be named after them in honor of their contributions to society. Their cockiness is contagious.

When I do the same assignment with middle-aged women, the results are different. Their imagined obituaries focus on family, travels with their spouse, and jobs, in that order. By midlife, the youthful desire to save the planet evolves into the more attainable goal to be the best volunteer at a local charity, to retire from a productive career, or to be celebrated as an unforgettable, loveable grandmother.

Occasionally we’ll read an obituary about people we knew and loved. The best way to honor their memory is to get busy living the extra days we’ve been given that they didn’t have. Carpe Diem.

Today’s blog is fueled by a 2010 Cinder from Snake River Valley. This delightful blend of Cabernet Sauvignon, Merlot, and Malbec is available at The Grape Escape in Boise for about $34. I enjoyed it recently with one of my favorite friends, and because life is short and meant to be savored, we also shared a decadent piece of chocolate cake. Don’t tell my trainer.