You can feel it in the air!
Spring will be springing soon, triggering mass hysteria in the form of fabric sacrifices and smoking hot glue guns.
I would like to reminisce about my “Martha Stewart Days”: a restless nesting time in every woman’s life when you are certain that watercolors, cake decorating – or maybe a little light carpentry – is the only thing between you and that one thing that will make your heart sing.
Admit it with me! There was the rubber stamp phase, the quilting phase, the wallpaper borders phase, the scrapbooking phase… I even had a cookie cutter phase.
Thanks to my mile-a-minute lifestyle, I went through them all in rapid succession looking for that song. In the process, I surrounded myself with boxes of unfinished flights of fancy.
I learned several things about myself over the course of the years.
I am not an artist.
I appreciate arts, crafts, music, and gorgeously turned out homes, but I will never be able to do it myself.
Also (and probably because) I have the attention span of a gnat.
And the patience of a charging rhino.
This does not lend itself to the “making of beautiful things”.
I am missing a key chromosome that most females use when they walk into IKEA or Home Goods, and proceed to pick out coordinating and tasteful objects that transform their living rooms into magazine photo shoots.
All of my taste is in my mouth.
I stand in front of a thousand color swatches and my eyes cross.
My limited skill set is my girlfriends’ delight.
I pull one into my bedroom and say, “There are eight shades of green on this wall. Pick the one I will love.”
They always know.
I have just enough DNA to feel the urge to create and not enough to pull off the job.
I once sewed myself a dress. The arm holes didn’t actually match where my arms were. But the dress fiasco helped to purge my sewing machine compulsion before I drowned in fabric.
Not in my wildest dreams will I be able to compete with my foodie friends in the kitchen, but I could watch them cook for hours on end. I passed them all my odd spices and random ingredients that made a unique meal that no one here would eat.
I am not a musician.
I taught music lessons with PTA for many years. I learned along with the kids how to read notes and play the recorder and sing in rounds. I taught myself piano.
Yes, I can play it. No, not for you.
I play piano the way I dance which is also the way I snorkel: tense and waiting for the barracuda to arrive.
Awkward at best.
I am delighted with symphonies and things operatic. I enjoy theater and dance and museums. I don’t care what you’ve collected, I would love to see it.
But I’ve stopped saying, “Hey, I could do that!”
Thank you, Martha, for showing me what I’m made of.
And what I’m not made of. Money is one. Time is another.
Her little secret to success lies in her trick of keeping a “staff”.
I’m on my own as the butler, the baker and the candlestick maker. (It’s safe to say you’ll never read a post about my having a candle making phase. That one was third grade.)
“Keep it Simple Sweetheart” reminds me to focus on the project I was actually meant to create: my family.
They make my heart sing every day.