The Tao of Martha (40 page)

The first scarf is for my friend Caprice as part of her housewarming present. She’s really willowy and tends to get chilly, so I make this one extra thick and wide, remembering how the last time she was here, she cranked the temperature up to eighty degrees and shivered into her heated seat…on a fifty-degree day. I imagine her wearing the scarf I’m making and being grateful for its warmth. Plus, she’s profoundly thoughtful, so I suspect she’ll appreciate my attempts, dropped stitches and all.

I’m slowly learning that the old adage about the thought counting most isn’t just something cheap people say to justify a chintzy present. The thought has become my call to action. When Caprice bought her new house in LA, my initial instinct was to send a Jonathan Adler gift certificate. She likes his stuff, and with a couple of clicks, I’d be done and I could put a big old check mark on the “Satisfied Housewarming Present Requirement” box. But my year of Martha has inspired me to do more than that, to make the effort. Ordering a gift would have taken moments, and it’s one step removed from saying, “Here’s a handful of five-dollar bills. Knock yourself out.” So it’s suddenly important that my housewarming gift be special, thoughtful, and personal.

Caprice moved to a famous old part of LA, so I felt my housewarming present
should relate to her new neighborhood. I have another friend who collects really specific vintage postcards; thus I’m always on the lookout for her brand when I hit vintage shops. That’s when I remembered that I’d run across all kinds of cool old LA postcards, so I headed to the antiques mall.

After searching through dozens of vendors’ shoe boxes across the complex, I found five amazing black-and-white postcards featuring different shots of the Farmers Market back when it was hosted on a racetrack. Then I took them to one of the you-frame-it shops and put them all together in a collage that was not only incredibly cool and old-school, but also neutral enough to blend in with any decor. The picture is ready to ship, as soon as the scarf’s complete.

My secondary purpose in knitting her a scarf is also utilitarian. What I’m making her is so thick and soft, it will neatly protect her framed postcards in shipping. In providing the one-two punch of considerate and practical, I feel like I just won at life!

When I do finally finish Caprice’s scarf—and it takes forever—I’m struck by yet another Tao tenet: Semihomemade is as appropriate and welcome as, say, semiliterate, semisweet, or seminude. Which is to say, not at all. Give me actual homemade, or forget it.

Ooh, better yet:

Despite sometimes being affiliated with the pathological penny-pinchers, nothing says, “I love you” like a gift from the heart
and
the hands.

Although I have to wonder…where did I come up with the notion that handmade gifts were inexpensive? I’ve been working with a lot of baby alpaca and merino wool, and some of these pieces are running sixty bucks in material alone. Add in the cost of my time, and this scarf, this loopy, sloppy, love-filled scarf, would retail for more. Significantly more.

So I’m probably not going to quit my day job (as it were) to professionally loom scarves.

But I will have all kinds of fun making these thoughtful gifts for everyone I care about. And if in giving them I
happen
to receive some fine-quality Jo Malone products in return?

I won’t complain.

I
’ve developed a callus on my finger. Look at it, all hard and lumpy! Ha!

I’M A PROFESSIONAL KNITTER, BITCHES!!

I’
M
A
WARE
N
OW,
D
AMN
I
T

B
ack in Crocktober, before I pledged my love everlasting to a skein of yarn, I was perusing Martha’s tweets for inspiration. Turns out I found it…but not in the way I expected. While searching for ideas on the game night I hosted for my birthday, I ran across her tweet on how it’s Breast Cancer Awareness Month. That made me think about mammograms. Mind you, mammograms are a shitty party theme, although I suspect our girl could pull it off. But seriously, they’re a must, especially if you’re over forty. So I quickly scheduled an appointment because I was overdue and then went back to sourcing the very best baked potato salad recipe.

Of course, I then
missed
my appointment because I’m an idiot who can’t read a calendar when she’s busy planning a game night. I was supposed to show up on a Thursday at one p.m., but in my head, I thought it was Friday. Damn it. Because apparently
everyone
calls to schedule their yearly scan in October (excellent job on raising awareness, all you purveyors of pink), this time I can’t get in until the Friday after Thanksgiving, three weeks later.

I had my baseline mammogram taken last year, so I’m not particularly concerned about this time around. After just completing my well-woman exam, I’m reminded of what a big fan I am of any medical procedure that allows me to wear pants. I feel like I’d particularly excel at therapy. All that lying down fully dressed on big leather couches and complaining about the perceived wrongs in my life? That is
so
in my wheelhouse. I could knit while I was there, too. Plus, with the possible end result of having mood-altering pharmaceuticals prescribed? Yes! But I’m on an even mental keel, because I actively avoid situations that make me nuts, so mammogram it is.

The last time I came to the Women’s Center for my exam, there were Quaker Chewy Granola Bars in lobby, but today there’s only coffee. I’m not left waiting long enough to enjoy a cup or a (missing) bar, yet I’m disappointed all the same, because I brought my loom with me and I was hoping to get in a few rows before I’m called.

This knitting thing?

It’s become an obsession.

I love the immediacy of knitting. In five minutes, I can create an entire inch of scarf. And if I make a mistake? Pfft, no big deal. Pull a few loops and it’s like it never even happened. I’ve not yet graduated to fancy stitching or projects outside of scarves, but I’ll get there. Plus, I’m naturally fidgety, so knitting gives me an outlet for nervous movement, and it really calms me down. And there’s something about the wrist action of knitting on a loom that counteracts the wrist pain I feel when I type a lot.

When I sit down with a full TiVo cache and a skein of yarn, my whole being exhales. There’s something incredibly calming about the repetitive motion. I’d say knitting produces the same kind of Zen as meditation for me, but when I’m finished, I have mental clarity
and
a new pair of socks.

The best part of this new, productive hobby is that both Laurie and Gina are knitters—who knew? Gina’s even the founder of a local chapter of a drink-and-knit group called the Stitch ’n’ Bitch. And Laurie? Laurie’s up on all the hot knitting spots on the North Shore and introduced me to the most amazing yarn shop called Three Bags Full. (Never in my life did I predict I’d use the words “amazing” and “yarn shop” in the same sentence. Never.)

One of goals in living a year via Martha’s dictates has been a desire to bond more with my friends. I love that by simply discovering a somewhat esoteric, mutually agreed upon, and highly productive hobby, I’ve advanced that mission. We’re all about knitting get-togethers now and have an entirely new subject of conversation.

Anyway, I don’t get to knit while I’m here in the Women’s Center, but I also don’t have to wait. I guess that’s fine, too. I follow the nurse down the hall, and upon arrival in the digital imaging room I disrobe in front of the big machine. The technician twists and pulls my lady bits into place like so much bread dough, and it’s more uncomfortable than I remember. She has trouble lining all my parts up properly and tells me, “Your breasts are misbehaving today, aren’t they?”

I respond, “No, they’re always like this,” because what else could I say? What, like they need the naughty corner? Like they should go to bed without dessert?

The scans aren’t as quick as last time and I’m not sure why. It’s possible that the food baby I created at Thanksgiving may be to blame, because it’s throwing off my whole midsection. Brussels sprouts lardons and raspberry cheesecake, I’m looking at you.

Regardless, I’m in and out in twenty-five minutes and right on time to meet Laurie for coffee.

“How’d it go?” she asks.

“Took a little longer than last time. The technician said ‘the girls’ were misbehaving.”

Laurie is puzzled. “What does that mean?”

“I don’t know. Considering they didn’t just poop on the living room rug again or steal someone’s identity, I’d say they were model citizens. I guess the issue was she couldn’t get my…
stuff
to point straight.” I give an inadvertent shudder, not only about the process, but also at almost saying n-i-p-p-l-e in the middle of Starbucks.

Laurie nods anxiously. “Mine never do either. Damn gravity. But otherwise everything was okay?”

I wave off her concerns. “Yeah, except they didn’t have Quaker Chewy Granola Bars this time. Plus, breast cancer is the last thing in the world I’m worried about. I have so many other fears. Like rolling blackouts? Yes. Food shortages? Uh-huh. Getting my shoelace caught in an escalator and having it chew off my leg before help arrives? Sure, but less so once I bought a new pair of loafers. Zombie wars? Well, still no there, but I did finally watch
The Walking Dead
with Fletch last week while I was knitting and now I’m a little bit more concerned. But, honestly—the one thing I don’t worry about is breast cancer—I never smoked and there’s no family history.”

“Not much on my side, either. One of my great-aunts had it in the fifties, but she lived another thirty years,” Laurie tells me.

I stir my gingerbread latte before taking a sip. “The way I see it, between my terrible driving skills, my love affair with butter, and Hambone perpetually trying to trip me as I walk down the stairs, I’ll meet my fate in an entirely different manner. S’all good.” I blot a bit of whipped cream from my lip. “Ooh, speaking of good, guess what UPS brought today? Wait, you’ll never guess, so I’ll tell you. My Hostess cases!”

“Your what?”

Apparently Laurie isn’t quite as keyed into the Wide World of Snack Cakes, so I explain how the minute I heard rumors of Hostess going belly-up, I stocked up on a case each of Twinkies, Fruit Pies, Ho Hos, Zingers, and cupcakes because that seemed like such a Martha thing to do. In fact, my foresight inspired a whole new tenet in the Tao: No one ever regrets positioning themselves ahead of a trend. (Within the auspices of securities and exchange law, of course.)

Laurie scrunches her brow. “Martha would
never
buy Twinkies. She’d create a far superior homemade version, with lighter-than-air angel food cake and decadent crème fraîche filling. They would be fabulous and she’d tend her herbs while they were in the oven.” She says this without a trace of cynicism. When Laurie’s sons were small, she’d tune in to Martha’s show while they napped. She said Martha’s world gave her a peek into the sanity and civility that would one day again be hers. Sometimes that was all she needed to recharge from chasing after two little boys all day.