Martha Stewart is the devil on my shoulder

A few days ago, as I was artfully sticking my homemade "Please take me home" stickers on the gift bags I put together for my children's fourth birthday party, I had a familiar feeling. I was sort of enjoying myself, getting a certain satisfaction from the Martha-like perfection of the goodie bags, but underneath lurked a simmering resentment and impatience, a little throb telling me that my cutsie-pootsie project might not be the best use of my time.

As I stuck the stickers I started to suspect that such things, these bourgeois arts so trumpeted by women's magazines and Martha Stewart and a thousand design blogs, were just a giant diversion of creative energy. I imagine that no great artist, and certainly no one who has ever really changed the course of the world for the better, has expended much time or effort into making perfect goodie bags, or butterfly cakes, or wallpaper-covered file folders.

I'm all for an uplifted environment, by which I mean that I appreciate design and believe aesthetics make a difference (you should see my new faux bois rug--OMG). I get as much pleasure from a piece of beautiful Indian craft paper as the next girl. I adore a nice leisurely stroll through Design Within Reach or Etsy or Ikea. I even sort of like Real Simple.

I must admit, I'm sort of proud of my butterfly cake

But I also notice that men make and get credit for most of the "great art" of the world. Ditto on great scientific discoveries, adventures, environmental milestones, and feats of engineering. Meanwhile, women are encouraged to make the world a little cuter one scrapbook at a time. (Again, I appreciate a good scrapbook, but they are not the building blocks of a greater civilization, as least not as we currently view it.)

And the spaceship cake.

Of course not all of us were meant to design bridges or write the Great American Novel or become the next Beethoven. Most of us were meant to live decidedly less dramatic marks. And there is something to be said for doing something out of love, without regard for the praise or attention it might garner. All this magazine-style cuteness—wrapping forty presents, or making a spaceship cake, or laboriously calligraphing the place cards—might all be seen as acts of love. There is nothing wrong in wanting to delight someone else with a small effort toward beauty.

Still, I wonder. All this presentation is so fleeting and so fickle. Today's gorgeous cupcake tower will most likely be tomorrow's pineapple candle salad. Adorable goodie bags get torn open and disposed of with barely a glance. Spaceship cakes take 4 hours to make and ten minutes to eat.

I think of it this way: there are a million aspiring novelist in the country and I bet none of the male ones spend hours of their precious writing time making delightful goodie bags for four-year-olds.

Then again, I don't watch sports on TV, so maybe we come out equal.

P.S. The party was a complete success and much fun was had.

Portraits of Venice

A few of my Venetian friends. They look a little stiff, but they're great once you get to know them.

Why your life is not like a magazine

I'm in the Phoenix airport right now, on my way back from a photo shoot in Tucson.  I like how that sort of makes me sound like a model.  Alas, we were shooting a house, not me in my awesome bikini (look for the story in the July issue of Sunset!).Here's a little secret I'll let you in on: very few houses actually look like they look in magazines.  They may be beautiful, well-decorated, impeccably tricked out, but they still don't look like they do in magazines.  I know this because we just spent two days clearing all the unphotogenic stuff out of the house so we could shoot: Speakers? Out! Plants? Out! Art? Out! Personal photos?  Out!  As our style editor said, "It's all about editing," meaning it's all about getting rid of your personal effects and replacing them with our own, brand new and much better looking items.  No junk mail, fridge magnets, pony tail holders on the bathroom sink. It's all fake.  I just want you to know so you don't feel bad about yourself. 

Still, it wouldn't kill you to dust every now and again. 

Our style editor Miranda making everything pretty, pretty, pretty.

A thing I like

The Sonoran hot dog. People, are you ready for this? A hot dog, wrapped in bacon and served in a bun with pinto beans, tomatoes, mayo, mustard, guac, and cheese with a big cheese stuffed chile also wrapped in bacon on the side.  They only have them in Tucson (and it can be assumed across the border in Sonora, Mexico.)  I had my first one yesterday.  And yes, it's a little gross.  But in a completely delicious way. Take that, vegetarians!

Kitchen chairs makeover (or another reason I'm not getting much writing done)

Remember that date I had with the Mister?  And the trip to the upholstery warehouse?  Well, I'm ready to debut the new dining room chairs we found on the street, and which were 100% inspired by these beauties I saw on Design Sponge and then again on our very own Sunset Home blog.   

But first, a breakdown:

Cost: chairs-free, paint and painting supplies-about $30, fabric-$22 TOTAL: $52

Time: a week, but if you were more industrious and say, maybe laid off and single, you could get it done in a weekend (including dry time).

Unanticipated side effects: numb right index finger from prolonged depression of spray paint button.  Sudden and acute need to buy new kitchen table and paint the walls. It's never ending, really.

BEFORE

Ok, so maybe they don't look so bad here but let me 

just say that the maple is fake and the fabric was filthy.

And—wait for it, wait for it.

AFTER

Yes, we did all four chairs.  I just got sick of posing them.

What we did: sanded, primed with a spray primer (1 coat), painted with Rust-Oleum American Classics in Blossom White (3 coats), covered seat with a Schumacher fabric remnant. And, voila!

Magnolias in bloom

You can buy this image here.

It's drizzly and gray again here.  We desperately need the rain, and yet, sigh, it's not exactly a mood elevator.  Except, of course, when you happen upon a Magnolia tree all bursting and blooming and gettin' crazy with huge pink blossoms.  My Magnolia calls them "Maggie trees" and whenever I point one out to her she nods and says, "Now open your eyes and look for an Olive tree for Ollie."  Isn't that magnanimous of little Magnolia? 

Speaking of twins.  If I lived in this Brazilian town, I would STAY AWAY from the water.

A thing I like

Photo originally published in Domino Magazine

I'm sort of addicted to decorating and home blogs (not the nerdy ones, just the room-porn ones).   I didn't used to be like this.  I used to take my ma's old castoffs (Hello, chipped lavender nightstand. Hello, dresser I've had since birth.) and call it a day.  Now?  Well now our little 1941 house in the Sunset is under constant scrutiny and in the throes of a hundred DIY projects.  It's all due to my job as a home editor at Sunset magazine, where pouring over beautiful homes is part of my job description. 

Anyway, right now I am, like everyone else, loving Design Sponge.  I especially like this little tidbit on how to go about remaking a room.  Personally I start by manically perusing Craigslist for used stuff, but some people, as I understand it, start with a grand vision. 

A roundup of cool links to design stuff and ideas and people in the blogosphere

A few things I think you should know about:

This woman beat me out of a job at Cafe Mom. Yes, I was going to take this blogging thing to the big time.  I tracked her down and found her all over the place. It turns out I like her.  So, Happinest meet Up Mama's Wall.  Up Mama's Wall meet Happinest, and Mamazine.  Yes, you are welcome to my 25 regular readers (That's right, I've grown!).

Here's Undrgrnd. Sign up for their daily newsletter and buy lots of cool, design-y things for your home that you don't need.  The good news is that they are marked down, a lot.  Like sometimes by 80%.  Enjoy.  

Also, in case you're feeling stuck.  Here are some ideas from Free Idea Factory.  Why didn't I think of that?

Finally, that agent who liked me and then changed her mind about my new anthology, sort of changed her mind again and now she has submitted my essay about hating my dog to the NY Times Modern Love section.  I tell you this because I need your good vibes.  You know, from your lips to God's ears and all.