Missing Martha

I’m hanging bright-colored lights around the front door and decking the halls of my house with shiny tinsel garlands. Why am I brimming with holiday spirit? Because for the first time in my adult life, I am free.

This year, there’s no one telling me to make soup stock out of the coffee grounds in the kitchen sink drain or urging me to scour the local parks for pinecones to gild with heirloom jewelry that’s been melted in the microwave. No sir, now that Martha Stewart is behind bars, not only is the world a slightly safer place, but I have been liberated from holiday performance pressure.

Frankly, I think she should have been jailed years ago for suggesting that we make soap from canola oil. Compared to that crime, a little insider trading seems like small potatoes (which, by the way, Martha likes to roast with virgin olive oil and fresh rosemary).

For years, Martha made me feel inadequate with her artfully arranged centerpieces and color-coordinated cookware – especially during the holidays. Trying to live up to her standards wasn’t just a lot of work, it was devastating to my self-esteem. Making wrapping paper from dryer lint and fashioning ornaments from eggshells – this is living?