An Open Letter to Martha Stewart

Just the other day, I was scanning the Internet for a recipe to make for my book club. I wanted a one dish meal that would be delicious and easy to serve. I stumbled upon Martha Stewart’s site, and I realized that I sort of miss her. In fact, after perusing the site for a few minutes, I was practically sobbing. Where is Martha Stewart?

What we need in this country is less Donald and more Martha.

The air waves are filled with squabbling faces who all seem to be arguing about Donald Trump. Is he evil? He professes to be the “greatest thing to ever happen to the GOP,” which means he’s even greater than Abraham Lincoln. So is he going to make America great again? And when was that time period he’s referring to? Was it back when our country demonstrated our independent spirt by immigrating to a new country, and then slaughtering the inhabitants for their land? Or a little later in 1787, when we bravely launched “The Columbia” for the first U.S. around-the-world voyage, the same year we decided to count blacks as 3/5 of a person? Or maybe it was when we sacrificed thousands of young men to help Europe rid themselves of Hitler, and back home people were burning crosses and lynching young black men? Or maybe we have always been, and will always be, a combination of things, just like most countries, and most people are: A little of this, which is “very, very great,” as Donald so eloquently puts it, and a little of that, which can be greatly improved upon. When did everything become so black and white?

And that’s why we need Martha, and her shades of gray, also known as pewter, warm smoke, winter ash, and dusty steel. So I sat right down and wrote her a letter.

Dear Martha,

I’m guessing you’re trying to keep a lower profile since you came back from going away. But it’s been years. People are over whatever it is the feds think you did. Trust, this country’s got much bigger things on its plate, with the exception of Donald Trump’s hands. Apparently, he can’t even palm a golf ball.

It’s not that I implemented any of your advice from the 80s; it’s just that I felt better listening to your voice tell me how to declutter my spice drawer and my life, neither of which I had at the time. I also didn’t have an actual kitchen, so your recipes were out, too. I had a toaster oven, 2-cup coffee maker, phone, and message machine, all set upon the top of a mini-refrigerator. Basically, I didn’t have rooms back then, Martha. I had areas.

So yeah, I couldn’t relate to your roasted leek bread pudding while sporting a crisp blouse, neat slacks and middle-aged version of the Rachel cut, but it did have a hypnotic effect on me. Then again, it could have been carbon monoxide backing up from the wall heater.

So what I’m trying to say, Martha, is that America needs you. We need to fantasize once again about being you, and watch you move effortlessly through the 22 rooms of your sprawling, ranch-style Connecticut home, throwing open a hall closet occasionally to display the neatly labeled containers (clear, of course), rows of towels in several shades,such as morning rose, ultramarine, and ripe cantaloupe. (I had one towel back in those days, but I appreciated that you changed yours with the weather.)

To be clear, Martha, we need you to totally saturate the market again. We need the comfort that comes from living vicariously through others, and by others, I mean anyone other than Donald Trump.

What we don’t need are Martha wanna-bes, like Gwyneth Paltrow, and her Goop website. That didn’t work out. First, she skipped important do-it-yourself steps and pressured us to buy things like $150 t-shirts. The last straw for me, personally, is when she recommended something called herbal vaginal steaming. Martha, we ladies don’t want to be reminded that we have such things. We liked you because you helped us forget we have confusing, disorganized lady parts that don’t always work the same way twice. 

You may be comfortable producing your part-time show, wherever and whenever it is and hitting a magazine cover now and then, but I’m telling you, it’s not enough. We need all of you, at all times, just like the good ol’ days, when we were totally sick of your totally perfect crap. We need a new ratings whore like never before, someone who is as comfortable in the boardroom as she is in the bread room, who can tell the Clown from Queens, “Donald, you’re fired. And that’s a good thing.”

Sincerely,

America

P.S. Any chance you are free for the next four, maybe eight years?