When I was twenty, I moved into an on-campus apartment with a kitchen. When my mother was helping me unpack my dishes, she turned one over and saw the Martha Stewart label emblazoned on the bottom of a plate. "Oh, Ann Marie," she said, shaking her head as only a Catholic mother can.
What's wrong with Martha? She's too perfect, she's so bitchy, she got away with murder. (Well, not murder. But if she had, I doubt Americans would hold her in lower esteem.) We reject Martha and her lifestyle. What American wants to be too perfect? What American has the time?
Instead, we turn to Oprah Winfrey and Rachel Ray. They too have television shows and magazines and products geared toward American women. And we can be Oprah or Rachel if we just take their tips on fashion and cooking and life. Because it's easy! We can eat dinner in 30 minutes! We can be thin (because it's ok to love yourself enough to have lipo)!
But no woman can be Oprah or Rachel any more than she can be Martha. They peddle magical beans that will make us pretty and thin and happy, but the beans never sprout. We buy more of their products (and into their products) to fill the need, to quench our unhappiness, but we only feel more empty.
The emptiness is the nothingness that has become American culture. We put in our forty hours a week, and therefore, we cut corners to cook our meals, keep our homes, and entertain our guests. We buy food—mixes, frozen meals, and ready-to-eat garbage—instead of making our own food. We consume to fill the emptiness, but we do not produce. It is in the production that we can feel whole.
Which brings us back to Martha. She cooks with ingredients, she grows the flowers in her centerpieces, and she decorates her home with handmade crafts. Do I have time for all of this? Hell no. But instead of trying to have everything, but doing it quickly and poorly, I'll choose what's most important to me, and do it right.
