Martha's Calendar

I remember the first time I made my mom buy me picked up a copy of Martha Stewart Living.  It was the summer of 1998 and Sandy H. and I were driving through New England after my summer at Choate (I wasn't quite fall-winter-spring semester Choate material).  We were in Maine and I was snuggled in the back seat of the rental station wagon with the July MSL, adorned with a cover picture of a beautiful homemade yogurt-currant-blueberry parfait: a perfect 4th of July cover that drew me in to a lifetime of domestic low self-esteem.

As we drove past the Bush complex in Kennebunkport, I finished digesting my MSL, and I confirmed exactly what I always knew I wanted to be when I grew up: rich.  And a collector of fine antique pie birds, an owner of magnificent Friesians, a grower of prize gourds, an entertainer of white people, and an all-around domestic goddess, even though I despise the title "domestic goddess."

I had this new idea for a blog last night and then I got really sleepy and dozed off for a little while and woke up being pissed off that I had totally forgotten about my new blog idea.  Then I picked up my November issue of MSL and turned to one of the first features that I have always found wildly entertaining: Martha's Calendar.  And then I remembered my new blog idea.

Martha's Calendar is totally and utterly absurd and worth the subscription price just to get a small glimpse into her schedule.  I've read that it's cut down by at least 90% for each day, and it's still beyond what any human is capable of doing if you work at a full-time job and need to fit in at least four hours of craptastic TV a day.

I'm not entirely sure, but in 2011, I might be living Martha's Calendar for a year and blogging about it.  It's kind of an aggressive goal, because when I told Derrick about it, he said, "Did you see what you would need to do on November 5th?  She's traveling to Manitoba to watch the polar bear migration, then she's touring the arctic tundra and viewing the northern lights."

Yeah, that would be hard to do.  So would all the gardening and composting and taking care of the chicken coops, what with the fact that I live in a one-bedroom apartment in the middle of a major urban center.  It's also not entirely original, in more ways than one.  It could be great for me though; I've been dying for an excuse to start horseback riding again!  And I know Derrick is tired of eating lemon-rosemary grilled chicken with steamed carrots.  Wouldn't he just love it if I whipped up some farro salad with oven-roasted grapes and autumn greens with parsnip-apple mash?  What the f**k is farro?

I may just have to settle for going to the zoo and watching the polar bears migrate from their feed bin to their lap pool, and viewing the light-polluted sky of north Philadelphia.  Which would be technically, if not Martha-perfectly, correct.

As if I needed another reason to love her.  
Would you please look at those ridunk Frenchies.