Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: THURSDAY, May 11, 1995 TAG: 9505110041
SECTION: EXTRA PAGE: 1 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: BETH MACY
DATELINE: LENGTH: Medium
Martha.
That's Martha, as in Martha Stewart. The gorgeous gourmet, the decorating diva.
The woman who makes things look so disgustingly
perfect that she doesn't just gag you with a spoon. She gags you with a silver spoon - an art deco one, displayed in a homemade frame, part of a complete set she keeps off in the Tablewares Wing of her Westport, Conn., home.
Laura, a serious Martha devotee, had a bonfire party recently in a field near her Indianapolis subdivision. Her guests roasted marshmallows on sticks that had been carefully carved, each of them cut to the same length, uniformly mottled, bunched into a neat little gathering - and tied with raffia.
The bonfire of vanity, the fire pile of finesse.
I thought of Laura when I spotted the latest Martha Stewart Living magazine. The article that caught my eye was called ``How to Plan a Yard Sale,'' and it used Martha's most recent sale as an example.
Something I can finally relate to, I thought, eager to sneak a peek at all the broken can openers and chipped plates in Martha's junk drawer. I imagined a dented Bundt pan, an old decoupage set, maybe even a box of leftover cut-up American Express cards for a quarter each.
Surely someone with that much class would have some clutter hanging around somewhere, I hoped. Maybe we would finally get to see the dirt behind the diva.
I knew I was in trouble when the lead photograph in the story featured a red Radio Flyer Wagon - the same model I bought new for my son for this past Christmas - spiffily polished and containing a matching set of vintage-'50s food canisters.
``From a buyer's perspective, yard sales are a good way to help furnish a second house or summer rental cheaply,'' advised the writer, giving no thought to those of us who furnish their first (not to mention, only) home in vintage garage-sale.
The magazine's other tips: All items should be clean. Color-code the price tags for multihouse sales. Write a catchy classified ad (Martha and gang's read: ``Five groovy chicks consolidate'').
And play music to encourage second purchases. ```It's probably wonderful,' one woman told her companion, holding up a photograph of a man on horseback in armor - and feeling suddenly free to buy it.'''
I was dying to know how much Martha charged for her man on horseback - more than a buck, I'm guessing - but the magazine's crack reporter didn't delve into price, except to advise being flexible. Martha even managed to sell her homemade ``YARD SALE'' sign - but then, who wouldn't want a Martha Stewart original?
On Saturday I went in search of a local version of Martha Stewart's yard sale. Scanning the newspaper ads, I figured my best bet was the North Cross School sale, where the crowd forms earlier than the lines for Grateful Dead tickets.
To help me observe the scene, I took along my friend Julie, who is not a sale junkie - but whose house could be featured in Martha Stewart Living (I think there's a correlation there).
It was a good thing she came, too, because I was so busy being elbowed amid the racks that I barely managed to snatch a pair of shorts, pants and a shirt for $5 - let alone take notes.
We didn't see anything very Marthalike (although my $2 pants had a Talbot's label), but Julie did report seeing a sale strategy that seemed carnivorous at best:
When the sale gates opened at 9 a.m., flooding the room with a sea of bargain-clutchers, the core of hard-core shoppers zoomed to their size sections, grabbed entire groupings of clothes, then fled to quiet corners to pick through the mass.
I was shocked, I tell you.
On the way home, I stopped off at three Raleigh Court yard sales. I bought a kiddie swimming pool, a kiddie pair of shoes, six kiddie books, a kiddie pool ring and a chocolate chip cookie - all for $3.75.
I did not buy the old crock pot, the worn-out baby sleepers, the Harlequin romances or the minivan seats. I passed on a set of seven wine glasses, some copper-plastic cannisters and a cookbook that had been burnt to a crisp.
No one played any music. No one sold any signs.
I arrived home to find my 14-month-old in his high-chair, ravioli smeared on his face, juice dribbled on my dirty linoleum floor.
It was messy, funny, precious and real: not a very Martha-like scene.
I read in a snippy Vanity Fair column once that Martha Stewart is an intense workaholic; that, in fact, she keeps house for no one but herself - and her readers.
Martha works so hard on her lifestyle that she doesn't have a life.
I felt sorry for her, and yet a little relieved. Perfect food, perfect house, even perfect yard sales.
So that's how she does it.
Beth Macy, a features department staff writer, would like to see a joint Martha Stewart-McGuyver production featuring a glue gun, some pipe cleaners and a vintage red glass bowl. Her column runs Thursdays.
by CNB