Sunday, May 22, 2011

Wasted My Life Again in Martharitaville

(Apologies to Jimmy Buffett for butchering his song title.)

I'm not reMarthable.  If you don't get the reference, you aren't watching enough Martha Stewart.  Unfortunately, I watch her shows way too much.  It isn't healthy.  Not for me, anyway.  As I previously posted, it's just too much pressure.

For those who can live up to that standard, I say more power to you.  I think the difference is in how we tackle life.  People who are reMarthable most likely embrace life.  Me?   It's more like I'm clinging to the last scrap of hope.  And that's one scrap that's hard to turn into something beautiful.

I enjoy cooking.  Sort-of.  The wonderful, delicious-sounding meals I see prepared on Martha's shows would never fly in my home.  I had expected that by this point in my life I would be cooking for just me and my husband, and I was sure I could turn him around to a more gourmet lifestyle if only because he would starve to death otherwise.  But I'm still cooking for three picky people.  Some evenings I'm tempted to set out a variety of jarred baby food and let them go at it.

What can I say about crafting?  Martha makes it look so easy.  But when I go into my cramped, unorganized crafting space (the one I share with our exercise equipment, a large tv, giant desk and various kitchen appliances), for some reason nobody has bothered to lay out all my needed supplies in an orderly fashion.  The same thing with home improvement/repairs.  Recently I watched Martha learning to re-grout bathroom tile.  Not only don't I have an expert there to guide me through the process, but I can be assured that when I personally go to assemble all the necessary tools (because I'm self-reliant that way), something will either be missing or the battery will be dead. 

And don't get me started on how great Martha looks.  I'm pretty sure she's at least 15 years older than me.  I doubt anyone would guess that.   Shouldn't she have wrinkles?  At least on her face if not in her clothes. And speaking of clothes, how can she cook and not splatter grease on hers???  I wear a giant apron and I still come away from my stove covered with stains.  But if things don't change around here soon, in the very near future those stains will come from opening jars of pureed carrots.

Friday, May 20, 2011

Judgment Day

Someone has once again declared that judgment day is upon us.  For me, every day is judgment day. 

Recently my 12-year-old granddaughter told me I needed to get a job.  To her credit (most likely  because she didn't want to set me off), she wisely added that she understands I already have a job--caring for her and her younger sister and all the work that goes into that.  But she thinks I need to work outside the home.  Why?  Has the economic downturn taken such a toll on our family that she fears our downfall?  Does she just wish we had more disposable income so we'll finally buy her that much-coveted Ipod Touch?  No.  She simply wants a more sophisticated answer when her friends ask what her parents do.  I suggested she tell them I'm retired from the health insurance industry.  Nope, that wasn't good enough.  "Well," I said, "at my age and because I haven't worked in thirteen years, the best job I could get would most likely be at a fast-food restaurant.  Is that what you want to tell your friends?"  (Not that there's anything wrong with an honest day's work at any job; I just figured she was looking for something impressive to report to her peeps.)  She had a blank look on her face in response to this, suggesting maybe this would be better than admitting your grandmother "doesn't do anything".  Okay, this would require some finesse.  I have no desire to re-enter the workforce except under the most dire circumstances, but I refuse to give my grandchild another reason to resent me.  So I stated my case: "Honey, do you really want me to be more stressed that I already am?  Can you imagine how much yelling I'll do if I work all day then have to come home to cook, clean and do laundry?"   It took only one brief second for her to reply, "You're right, you don't need a job."

Case closed.  All charges were dropped.

Embarrassed by her Grandmother, again...