Erma, Martha, & How My Independence is Kicking My Butt

I was just diligently washing windows, watering plants, & scrubbing screens...in total darkness...while most people are getting situated somewhere to watch fireworks. Predictably, when I turned on a light, most panes had varying degrees of a scuz halo. And instead of being upset, or going back in with corrective measures, I stood back, squinted, & thought, 'why is that vaguely familiar...?'  Aha!  It looks like frost!  And I decided (like there was any doubt) to leave them just as is in a tribute to winter in colder climes.

And that made me think of columnist Erma Bombeck. Rarely does a house chore pass without reminding me of her description of how to clean your oven. She said she would turn off all but one dim light & even wear sunglasses, & if anybody mouthed off about her methodology, she'd immediately turn the task over to them.  

Not that I was slacking today. And I had a whole crew here to help. My favorite friend/handy-couple was here from before 7am, painting walls, installing lights, shelves, fans, & they even brought her mom to help. As a team, they accomplish more in a day, without injury, without complaint, without breaking anything in the mountains of my weird stuff they move to accommodate scaffolding, than I could in a month...or EVER.

(A peek at my new studio color-- more when I reassemble it)

While they do what they do so well, Mu & I stay on the porch & make jewelry. We did that (with one errand thrown in) from 7am until they left after 4:30 this afternoon.

(My huge light, swinging at last)

(John bravely going where no ladder has before)

That's when I started my chores...& started thinking about Martha Stewart's motives. Somewhere between mulching fresh landscaping in an attempt to help it survive our current drought, washing windows (despite the quantity over quality factor as I mentioned, & finishing some earrings for tomorrow's vending by the ship (wherein I try to flip that script to quality over quantity), I thought about Martha...& prison.  Back in the day before HMOs, PPOs, & take 2 aspirin & get the hell out of this hospital medicine, some women looked forward to the hospital stay & few days of bed rest they had when they gave birth. 

I'm whupped tonight, as badly as if I was the one climbing scaffolding & wiping down louvres.  Even though we all know Martha has a ton of help in any project she takes on, there's no denying that many irons, in that many Omnimedia fires, must have exhausted her. Perhaps her trip to prison was to her what the hospital stay was to the birth mothers--painful, traumatic, but when you come right to the point. A needed rest?

And so today, July Fourth for just three more hours, I will pay tribute to independence, both inner & outer, by yeilding to the call of my bed at a decent hour instead of my normal 2 or 3 am.

It's either that or prison.