From The Pen Of Patti Payne

Expectations are high at holiday time, especially now that Martha Stewart is back in force. I sit here wringing my hands, trying to figure out what Martha might do with floral wire. For years legions of us, (come on, admit it) have watched her make magic with glue guns, tacks, broken blooms, dried berries, even feathers, turning out what looked like something that should hang on a door at the White House. Who else could stuff a 25-pound turkey in minutes, shove it in a gleaming oven and have it emerge to its perfect brownness? Who else could carve it up with no effort, serve it with cranberried carrot mousse, turn the leftovers into succulent soup, and make coveted jewelry sets out of the dried bones – all without a hair out of place or grease on her starched white shirt?

Well I can’t do it. I just can’t do it, I tell you! No more Martha wannabe for me. I failed at the turkey thing, and even the gleaming oven. Mine often looks like something exploded in there, and in some cases, something did.

I’ve given up trying to knit an argyle vest out of the hair from a Lhasa apso. I will not fashion the carcass of my holiday roast into a miniature sleigh to hold Christmas cards nor make holiday decorations from egg cartons. I will not paint my cat green or my rump roast mauve to match the décor.

I refuse to rub a potato on my fingers to remove stains, unless the potato is mashed. And no, I won’t gild a pomegranate, make the perfect piecrust, turn water into a nice Cabernet, nor name a hybrid rose after myself to give to friends at Christmas.

I will not freeze leftover wine into ice-cubes nor make envelopes of wood veneer, all the while training my pet parakeet to sing like Barry Manilow. No, no and no. It hasn’t worked for me.

Instead I am going to put my feet up, warm my toes by the fire, snuggle in and wish each of you the most relaxing and meaningful of holidays.