Martha Stewart, you are not invited for Thanksgiving this year

I have absolutely nothing to say to Martha Stewart and she has irked me for the last time. Never mind the fact that I don’t know her, will probably never meet her, and have never spoken to her in the first place, you can be sure I will snub her if given the opportunity.

To be honest, I doubt this will be the last time she irks me. (I love that word–irk, irk, irk. It’s nearly as good as being miffed.)

Tomorrow is Thanksgiving. My house is a mess, dusty, and in dire need of a good vacuuming, my laundry is wet (remind me when we are through here to go put that stuff in the dryer or plan to go naked tomorrow), and my favorite maroon tablecloth is–gasp!–not ironed. I’m pretty sure I know where my cookie sheets are (process of elimination; I’ve looked everywhere else and how do you lose cookie sheets in the first place???). My beloved husband and sister-in-law (who doesn’t even like to cook) have foolishly–foolishly–volunteered to prepare Thanksgiving dinner, but the chic yet cozy decor decisions belong to me.

On top of that, I have not, pitifully, completed making the hand-cut, hand-stamped thank you notes I need to get into the mail like YESTERDAY to my wonderful friends and family who have spent time and energy and thoughts and prayers on me and my well being lately.

Martha set the standard way too high. And so did Rachael, and all the rest. Not only can I not keep up with them, I don’t even know who is on the A-list for celebrity lifestyle coaches. Joanna Gaines, of course. Everybody knows the Queen of Shiplap.

I, alas, am shiplapless. And custom cardless. And cookie sheetless. And I am okay with it.

As we were coming home from another of the myriad doctor’s appointments I’ve had lately, I was lost in thought: If people don’t get thank you notes until after Thanksgiving, can I still go with a fall theme or should I do something snowy, but not necessarily Christmasy, because it’s by gosh a thank you note, not a Christmas card, or should I go with something altogether different and holy crap I’m still a newbie and do I have anything that isn’t red or green on hand to use anyhow? And did I order envelopes? Because if I didn’t, then I probably definitely need to go with something less fall-like since I will have to find my postage stamps, or buy more, after I make sure I have envelopes. Just because I had them three days ago does not mean I can find them today.

Here is what I presume another person in my position would have been thinking: Gosh, I’m glad I’m progressing so nicely after my mastectomy, and so thankful I have some energy and no pain, and it’ll be nice to be at home relaxing here in an hour or so.

What am I doing to myself? When did my obsession with All Things Adorable begin?

To be honest, I’m a late bloomer. Other than the occasional granny square and that whole run-in with homemade soaps and candles a few years back, I pretty much limit my artsy craftsy side to purchasing hundreds of dollars of supplies that will never get used. I’m good at it; I have a discerning eye. But, as I pondered actually cutting paper and inking stamps, I also pondered (co-pondered?) why there is such a craze for DIY Heaven nowadays? Who started all this in the first place?

Martha did. Martha Stewart, the First Lady of the White-on-White House (the subtle use of textures is so elegantly understated when one uses color-on-color.)

But in my quest for a more relaxing, fulfilling life now that I don’t fight traffic on a daily basis to get to work (because of telecommuting, not illness-related) , I have determined that our quirky, quaint Folk Victorian home must be the epitome of Adorable. Dammit, Martha, leave me alone; I’m doing the best that I can.

This year, though, Thanksgiving will be small but heartfelt. My in-laws are visiting the siblings in California this year, so we will be few. No need to break out the Artfully Mismatched dishes and linens. No need to set up a drink-and-dessert station, or set out hors d’oeuvres since dinner won’t be three hours late this year (I hope). This is the year for a pre-cooked turkey, the ever-popular green bean casserole, store-bought pies, and dressing that comes in a box (and I won’t look at the sodium content on the nutrition label). This is the year I will relax and let my beloved husband and his sister feed us and it will be delicious and amazing and even Adorable.

And the tablecloth will be wrinkled.

And the thank you cards may or may not be completed before tomorrow. (Who am I kidding? I’ve already put them up for the day.)

And there will be love.

And thankfulness. Lots of thankfulness.

I’m cancer-free.

 

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2 thoughts on “Martha Stewart, you are not invited for Thanksgiving this year

  1. I’m delighted…but perplexed. After reading your howling rant, how am I going to face Martha tomorrow when she shows up at my house? How will I tiptoe between loathing every breath she takes and envying the impossible ease with which she cooks a gourmet dinner for sixty with only two hours notice and nothing but half a bunch of mustard greens and a rotting spaghetti squash in the refrigerator? How will maneuuver between the Moroccan candied cranberries on the counter and the puddles of wet brisket fat on the floor and look dashing and debonair in the process? I’ll celebrate your rant and your small but extremely thankful Thanksgiving!

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