Each week I plan to invite a couple friends to this blog so I can ask them a question. My friends will share their answers with me and you, gentle readers, can give your answer to my question in the comment section below. I’ll choose one random person from the comments and reward them with an ebook surprise, it’s that simple! Comments are moderated, so don’t despair if you’re not posted immediately! All commenters will be entered into a drawing, so don’t be SHY!
This weeks question is:
What is your spirit animal?
I knew Martha Stewart was my spirit animal when I was listening to a radio show one Sunday morning as I drove through the LA area on my way home from grad school for the last time. She was referred to as the spiritual leader of not only Connecticut but all of New England and at that moment, something WASPy vibrated down to the very roots of my being.
I have disappointed her ever since.
Sure, there were acceptable votive offerings like my living room, a pleasing room sunk in Chinoiserie and designed around a six-foot tall, six-panel lacquered screen featuring semi-precious stone mid relief-work. Of course it’s the focal point of the room; there’s no way to hide something like that, so you might as well put it on display. Besides, my husband inherited it, so I’m stuck with it. I balanced it with a Roy Lichtenstein print, “Landscapes in the Chinese Style.” Old with modern (actually, pop art), reds and mauves with celadon, dimensional with flat. We even pulled the room’s colors from the two pieces and painted the walls just so.
But even that disappoints her now, I can tell. I mean, patterned paint treatments? That’s so 90s, and no one paints the ceilings of rooms anymore.
We will not even discuss the Stripped Bathroom Walls incident.
I thought perhaps I’d earned my way back into her good graces during my Mercury Glass Craze, but no. It brought only further disappointment and clutter.
Mercury glass was big a few years ago. Pottery Barn thinks it still is, but that’s neither here nor there. Anyway, I went on a rampage across eBay and acquired a few charming mercury-glass pumpkins with the bright idea of slicing small circular holes in the felt on the bottoms, just perfect for the insertion of those clever little battery-powered tea lights.
Does that not sound like the perfect fall centerpiece? Does that not sound like something Martha would do? Okay, it’s something she’d toss it off in between color coordinating all the jets at JFK or making sure all the leaves on all the trees at Turkey Hill were pointing in the same direction, but I have to start somewhere, right? I have to earn my way back into my spirit guide’s good graces somehow.
Alas, this project, too, foundered in the face of parenting and all the other day to day details. I gave the small glass pumpkins to my mother. She likes Halloween as much as I do. I can see the last pumpkin from where I’m sitting as I type this. Actually, I can’t. It’s buried under a pile of my son’s outgrown clothing I’ve yet to take to the thrift shop.
See? A disappointment. Wait. I make my own soap. Does that count? — Author Christopher Koehler
Buy link for Rocking the Boat