Take off those white shoes, and pull out your organizer. Fall looms ahead, and
we must make a plan of attack. It's been years since I let my subscription to
Martha Stewart Living lapse. I still miss it. She always had that calendar in
the front of the magazine that detailed the exciting chores that she would
undertake in the coming month. The 16th? Bake 15 pies and polish silver. The
25th? Call Chimney Sweep. The 3rd, yes, let's see... aha! We must organize all
of our greeting cards for the upcoming year. Bonus points if they are handmade.
When Labor Day rolls around, I feel a thrill of panic. Shouldn't I be canning
something? Making homemade potpourri or decoupaging a gift for each child in my
daughter's grade? Shouldn't I be recaulking the windows and airing out the
winter clothes? I know I should be knitting RIGHT NOW. I met my husband at work,
began dating him within a month, moved in with him two months later, and got
fired (for dating him) about a month after that. All things considered, I was
delighted to be unemployed, since I had been supporting myself for a number of
years with little time off. I had also recently received a portion of a class
action settlement, and was feeling free and easy. I would rise to see the
boyfriend off to work, and then I would watch Martha Stewart on the television.
Oh, how I loved Martha. She had clever ideas, specially designed closets with
built in sewing machines, an archival system for table linens, service for 500
in 50 different patterns. She used raffia and pipe cleaners and made art. A dear
friend and I would compare notes. We plotted domestic strategy. We met for
coffee and talked about putting up vegetables and making herbal soaps. We
peppered our conversations with "Its a good thing." She and I had both moved in
with our respective boyfriends at the same time. We decided that we would marry
said boyfriends (we did), have their children (did that too) and embrace the
picket fence, meatloafs and gingham aprons. Seven years have passed since those
dreamy mornings spent planning our what-ifs. Over time, I developed a scorn for
Martha. But it was misplaced. Martha parlayed all those domestic things that I
imagine they try to teach in Home Economics into hard cold cash. She made
otherwise sane women lust after $20 cookie cutters and shop at Kmart to bask in
the glow of Martha approved products. Actually, from the looks of her ads, she
actually designed, sewed, packaged and drove the truck to Kmart herself. There
she was, gleaming in her blue workshirt, a beacon of hope and womanly glory. I
threw myself into Martha's Way with vigor. My friend pointed out that Martha has
"staff" who assist, including generating many of the ideas that Martha would
demonstrate on TV and in her magazines. Unfortunately, I am not blessed with
staff, and I'm all about big ideas, and less about cleaning up after myself. So
when I discovered that running a household wasn't all arts and crafts, and
perfectly organized laundry rooms, I was disappointed. And I took it out on
Martha Stewart. My Martha scorn started to snowball on her first Martha Stewart
Baby issue. Her essay in the back revealed that she had a delightful pregnancy,
and continued to model swimsuits into her fifth month. Oh, it was so good to be
young, pregnant and Martha. I was a little irritated. Of COURSE Martha would be
delightful while pregnant. That sent me off into spiral of jealousy. Her
daughter surely grew up with sandwiches made from Martha's own jam and freshly
ground peanuts, on organic bread made from wheat that Martha sowed and reaped
herself. Martha surely provided a stimulating, enriching home environment, full
of laughter and joy. Of course, my snarky little heart was pleased to learn that
Martha had planted two majestic rows of trees shortly after her daughter's
birth, so that she may traipse under their shade on her wedding day. Martha's
daughter opted for a big city civil ceremony in a grey pantsuit, and Martha,
wedding guru, cut the trees down in a fit of rage. So Our Martha is not perfect,
but I've grown to enjoy that, too. I can't possibly be Martha-riffic, not
really. No staff here, right? So it's not my fault that my housekeeping and
cooking and everything lacks that final touch, the shot of glitter, not entirely
anyway. And with all Martha's troubles, she is likeable. Go forth and decoupage,
Martha.