Monday, January 25, 2010
I find myself constantly grappling with my inner thoughts, goals, and cheapskate. I've learned, as of today, that my life's philosophies have generally boiled down to one common thought: What would Martha do? While I have yet to design and properly hock my plastic bracelets, I find embracing my internal Martha-ness to be oddly comforting. It's like sipping a fine chamomile tea from my latest antiquing score, obviously a depression glass mug, while warmly cloaked in my latest hand-spun alpaca blanket on my Amish milled front porch swing overlooking my peach orchard at sunrise. Now, I should add that I drink whatever tea was sent to me in a gift basket, I practically break out in hives at the mere thought of antiquing, I'm more than likely allergic to Alpaca and I don't even have a porch, let alone a peach orchard. Oh, and sunrise is WAY past my bedtime. Regardless, I feel like I covet every last item on that list. I'll cast aside the part where Martha Stewart is a money hungry attention whore who'd sell her soul for the chance to have a top selling line at Kmart. I also choose to ignore the fact that she is a raging frigid bitch. I just adore the way Martha that speaks in that low, slow, uppity Connecticut manner, completely shunning her Nutley, NJ roots. I love how everything is a process, with strict methods and snobby quality practices. Things always are three times as difficult as necessary and require specific utensils for each step. Martha never just jabs at construction paper with safety scissors in the hopes of cutting a circle. She delves into her pottery collection after measuring (with a pure wooden ruler as an homage to hand spanking nuns everywhere) the dimensions necessary for her project. She'll then trace with a pure graphite pencil onto the finest of velum, cutting on a mat with an exacto and then sanding the round perfection with the finest grit sandpaper. There must be 20 of her.
I ooze inspiration, but often lack motivation. It is the bane of my existence. I've met the loveliest of women who actually comes as close to my idea of perfection as I can imagine. I'm sure she may not even realize she possesses such fine traits, but I assure you she is glorious! Thanks to her, I have picked up new hobbies, and found new obsessions to dominate my life. "A", the inspiration and knowledge I've collected from you is immeasurable! ;) I swear there is nothing she doesn't know about! I also dig that she has a blog/link for everything!!!!! So, my new project makes me swell with joy and has me itching to get started: I'm going to make laundry detergent. May not sound amazing and glamorous to any sane person, but I've never claimed to be on the side of sanity. I'm more excited to make detergent than I was to wed. Can you even imagine???? You'll clean your clothes, linens, and diapers with detergent made with your own hands. Yes, I am that lame.
Another not-so-secret of mine is that I'm mad about Borax. I adore it. There is simply nothing I can't do with Borax. I love that it is old-fashioned, I love that it is natural, I love that the box has tiny mules on it. There is an entire museum dedicated to it, and better yet... it is in the town of Boron. How perfect! Seriously, I'd list all of the reasons I covet Borax, but there is no way anyone would read this post, let alone any blog I ever write in the future if I did. Let's just say it is an invaluable member of the family. Counter tops, bathtubs, carpet deodorizer, laundry, brainwashing... it does it all.
As a happy side effect of this never ending cycle of gather, collect and purge, I sent my family off to de-clutter the house this past Sunday. My missing sewing machine was unearthed, thus staving off impending divorce proceedings. Check that off of my list. Now I'm all a tizzy with ideas and visions of my foot happily pressing the treadle. My imagination far exceeds any perceived skill I may possess, but a girl can dream. I'll be adding fabric to my list of things to throw money at when I'm at a craft store: yarn, felt, fleece, flannel, decoupage medium, scrap booking paraphernalia, picture frames, tiny things that always need dusting, and a proper sniffing glue. My children don't really need a secondary education. They aren't even old enough for a first-ary one.
I'm in no way deluded enough to believe that I AM the next domestic idol. Quite far from it in fact. You'll find that most ambitious projects I attempt result in an utter fail. Things take twice as long, cost three times as much, and never even resemble what they were intended to be. That being said... I'm happy to occupy my time in that matter. It keeps me off of the streets. It also keeps me from squeezing my babies until their eyes bulge. I could be a drinker, but instead I'm a hobby-pusher. I'm a craft enabler. I'm sure I'll never stop coming up with things to do, just as I'm sure I'll never do them all and a good portion of them will remain unfinished. Martha would hate that about me, but I believe there are far more reasons to hate her, so she should shut her yap. I don't at all believe she practices what she preaches, after all... I've seen her daughter's show. No woman who spent All Hallows Eve bobbing for handpicked apples in the perfect copper tub could hate her mother that much. That is why I know her methods are an illusion, and she pays her minions to carry out her whims for her. She's a whip cracker. Perhaps I DO aspire to be her....