The Tao of Martha (22 page)

P
UT A
B
IRD ON
I
T

“Y
ou know, glass is an excellent way to add an inexpensive pop of color to any room.”

I’d normally roll my eyes at anyone who ever uttered such a statement, except the person who just said this is
me
.

I’m at HomeGoods shopping for knickknacks, and a woman just commented on the contents of my cart. I’m working on redecorating a room, because I figure I’ve been on top of cleaning and organizing, as well as gardening, it’s too hot for cooking, we just had a party, and pet care now takes up about twenty-five percent of my day.

BTW, a quick word on the things I have to do to get pills into this dog? Last week she wouldn’t swallow any meds unless they were wrapped in meat that I prechewed.

I know,
I know
.

Just recently there was a story about how Alicia Silverstone goes all mama-bird
and gives her kid prechewed bites. Everyone on the Internet is just appalled, whereas I’m all, “You do you, Cher Horowitz.”

I’m feeling particularly effusive because Maisy’s had three positive checkups in three weeks. Dr. Thornhill said everything we’re doing for her is working and her kidney function is up to six percent! We’ve even been able to cut back on the fluids we give, so we’re down to IVs once a day. She still tires so easily, yet yesterday she rose from her slumber just long enough to steal a bone from Libby. Then she trotted back to her spot on the love seat and went to sleep with it clutched in her paws. Libby didn’t have the heart to swipe it back, and I was too busy cheering to help. I love when Naughty Maisy comes out.

Anyway, decorating seems like the most expedient way back into Martha’s world. So I’m currently working on the bedroom next to the master. I haven’t done much in there since we had the wallpaper stripped after moving in. Hell, I’m still displaying the IKEA prints I bought back in the dot-com era. Although with the eight thousand powder-blue wallpaper bows gone the room’s much improved, it still needs an update, because it’s boring.

A couple of weeks ago, I had a big book event with my BFF/author Stacey Ballis, Sarah Pekkanen, and Jennifer Weiner. Considering I’d have put Jen’s photo on my vision board if I made them, it’s so badass to have the opportunity to participate in a signing with her. However, the event wasn’t exactly perfect, as we discovered far too late that the venue wasn’t air-conditioned. In July. In Chicago. In the third-hottest summer since the weather’s been tracked. (We had a great time, despite my having sweated entirely through my bra.)

Point? Jen Weiner’s a class act, and she gave each of us a cool little glass plate to commemorate the occasion. I loved mine so much I decided to decorate the room around the color scheme.

I don’t want to spend a lot of money in here, so I’m not replacing the perfectly serviceable furniture; nor am I setting fire to the Cookie Monster–blue
carpet, despite my overwhelming urge to do so. Instead, I’ve repurposed two old shelves from Fletch’s office and I’m painting them a robin’s-egg blue to match the dresser. I also ordered a couple of white shelves that will bracket the daybed.

My plan is to fill the bookcases with little pops of blues and greens, which is why I’m in HomeGoods. I just found the most awesome vase for five dollars and a pretty bowl for seven! This discovery has made me so happy that I’ve morphed into Helpful Jen, the random customer who takes great delight in giving you her unsolicited opinion and speaking in many exclamation points wherever she shops, e.g., “Try that dressing; it’s delicious!!” and, “Those pants are so cute that I insist you buy them right now!!!” I’m greatly annoyed by Helpful Jen, but she comes out only when I’m in a particularly good mood, so I’m going to let her loose until she tries to invite strangers to lunch, and then I’m reeling her back in.

The bulk of what I’m placing on my new shelves is coming from OneKingsLane.com. I found all kinds of cute blue and green items with birds on them. (Fine,
Portlandia.
I’ve put a bird on it. Happy now?)

I discovered this site while trolling Martha’s archives. In April of 2011, she hosted Susan Feldman and Alison Pincus from OKL, and they discussed how they’d built their discount home decor business. Curious to learn more, I visited the site and quickly fell in love, because it’s like eBay without the assholes. Items come up for sale in groups and they’re available only for seventy-two-hour periods. Plus, when I shop, whatever I get remains in my cart for only ten minutes, so I either have to pick
more stuff to extend my time or check out. Once an item’s selected, but before it’s paid for, it’s marked with the stamp “IN ANOTHER MEMBER’S CART.” But if it’s something I want, and the other customer doesn’t act fast enough, I can scoop it up before they can place it in the cart again.

Okay, so maybe I can still be an asshole.

Even though the site occasionally features shops selling old Birkin bags and Chanel jewelry, this is my go-to place to find adorable, affordable knickknacks. In addition, they feature new antique items every day, so once in a while I can satisfy my vintage trophy fix.

The only glitch is that OKL doesn’t bill credit cards until the item ships, and mine expired midmonth. So they held everything until I updated my details, and now I’m waiting for a big shipment. In the interim, I found a wall mural of van Gogh’s almond branches and applied it behind the daybed like wallpaper. Someday when someone else buys this house, I’m sure they’ll mercilessly mock my taste, but I don’t care. I’m decorating this for
me
, not for resale value. (I feel a sudden kinship with whoever covered these walls in that hiddy bow wallpaper. I hope it brought that person as much pleasure as my silly mural brings me.)

Anyway, as tempted as Helpful Jen is to trail after the customer who had the bad sense to start a conversation with me, I have to restrain myself. Maisy has another appointment this afternoon and I need to get home for it.

“S
ix-point-eight!”

The normally reserved Dr. Thornhill shakes both of our hands.

“Maisy’s kidney functions are up to six-point-eight percent. Congratulations. You’re doing such a good job. She’s well hydrated, too, so let’s take her fluids down to two hundred and fifty milliliters,” he says.

A few weeks ago, we didn’t think we’d get past five percent, but she’s steadily been climbing. She’s even wolfing down her food again and taking her pills without benefit of chewing. Even though we know her health is a tenuous balance, we can celebrate today’s victory. Every day that Maisy wakes up happy and rolls around to scratch her back is a good day in my book.

As we drive home, Maisy’s in the back attempting to stick her nose out the cracked window. She takes big gulps of air and then blows moist sneezes in our direction. Her little rosebud ears flap in the breeze and she’s the very embodiment of joy.

“Who knew that the key to happiness is six percent kidney function?” I say as we round the corner onto Milwaukee Boulevard.

“No, the key to happiness is not watching you chew the dog’s food,” he replies.

But we both know if it weren’t me doing it, it would be him.

Later in the day, I receive further evidence that Maisy’s feeling well.

How do I know?

Because she just quietly, systematically tore all the batting out of the comforter on the bed in my office.

One minute, she’s happily snoozing in the sun next to Libby on the part of the bed with the best outdoor vantage point, and the next, it’s snowing stuffing. Maisy’s now wreathed in a cottony beard with bonus bits stuck to her eyebrows. As I stare at the carnage, she cocks one be-puffed brow as if to say, “And?”

Normally it’s Libby who engages in such shenanigans. Like when Julia and Finch were here over the holidays? We went out to dinner, and upon our return Libby had not only dragged half a dozen bottles out of the wine rack, but had also counter-surfed a can of decaf coffee, which
she then pried open and dumped on the living room floor. Clearly her intention was to provide us with postmeal refreshment, as she’d also left a pair of my panty hose on the floor, no doubt because she couldn’t reach the coffee filters.

I should absolutely discipline Maisy, but it’s pretty much impossible to yell at a dog completely nailing a Santa Claus impersonation. So I rationalize her behavior by telling myself the comforter was old and ugly and due to be replaced anyway. Maisy’s knowing look says, “Take the hint.” So I log onto PotteryBarn.com and peruse their offerings.

I’m not overly fond of any of the comforters or quilts, but I find a lovely discounted duvet cover. The background’s powder blue and there are butterflies and big pink apple blossoms all over it with cranberry accents that match the drapes. Yeah, I could live without the butterflies, but they blend to the point of being nonoffensive. Butterflies are a lot like rainbows: They’re phenomenally beautiful in real life, yet no graphic representation can do them justice; ergo, it’s best to forgo. Regardless, the overall look is light and cheery and would be perfect in here. Yet I hesitate before clicking the order button, because I
hate
duvet covers. I don’t hate them like I hate war, cancer, and Halloween, but they’re a close fourth.

I mean, in terms of aesthetics, a duvet cover is ideal. That’s not the issue. I appreciate how I can make the surface supersmooth by simply spraying it with a bottle of hot water and engaging in a little oppositional tugging. (This is the sum total of everything I learned working as a hotel maid one summer in Boston, FYI.) Also, duvets offer the flexibility for me to decide how toasty I want the bed—I can opt for a lightweight coverlet inside when it’s warm, and something extradowny for the winter. And, as the duvet cover is essentially two sheets sewn together, I can launder it here instead of sending it off to the dry cleaner. Major bonus.

The problem comes in getting the stupid comforter inside the stupid duvet. I’ve never been able to master this task, to the point that it causes
me existential angst. This job should be as easy as sliding a CD into its case or filling an envelope, but no. I always end up sweaty and cursing inside a fabric prison cell, attempting to align all the corners, which I never freaking do. Without fail, ninety percent of the damn thing gets wadded up in the far left corner, and then it’s nothing but sheet for the bulk of the cover. No amount of hot, squirted water can smooth it when it’s bunched, either.

As I debate, I note Martha’s
Homekeeping Handbook
on the corner of my desk. The manual’s more than just a prop—it’s a definitive guide to cleaning everything in the home. I guarantee there’s a section on Duvets for Dummies, so I proceed with the transaction, confident that Martha will show me the way.

“Okay, Maisy, I placed the order,” I tell her. “When it comes, maybe you can try to not destroy this one.”

Maisy’s slow blink in response tells me everything she’s thinking.

“I promise nothing.”

And I’d expect nothing less.

W
hen my new duvet arrives, I dig a lightweight down comforter out of the TV cabinet in the bedroom. Our house was built back when televisions were still small and square, so in terms of watching the news from bed, the space is useless. But it’s the perfect place to store linen, so it’s all worked out.