I have waited for Martha for over

TEN YEARS. Ten long, tiresome- yet exhilarating-years. Yes, I've waited for her by a pool on a blistering afternoon in Istanbul, on a bench in Seville, outside plenty of WC's in London, eating atop a roof in Marrakesh, and in the fancy hotel lobbies lining Rio's Ipanema. "Oh, excuse me, I'm waiting for my friend Martha" has become my internationally used/necessary phrase as I have warded of people who want my bench, or who are bothered by my taking advantage of AC in their hotel lobby (hotels I never stay in). It seems almost automatic that once I imply that I am waiting for someone important, I earn all the credibility in the world. "Well, if you're waiting for Martha, then I understand! Take your time..." I make sure to put special emphasis when I say "Martha". I like to almost whisper it like it's a secret. I'm sure they have no idea who this illusive Martha is, and sadly they never find out. Martha is a no show. I wait sometimes hours for her and she never arrives. Perhaps she's detained at a luncheon with the King? Maybe she got lost in a super sale at Galleries Lafayette or Printemps? I suppose I have to forgive her- she is in fact Martha.

Years and years ago, before Martha was the Martha we know today,

I WAS A FAN. I was such a fan, that the theme for my 12th birthday party was "It's a Good Thing/Martha Stewart". For my birthday that year, my aunt made me an apron that said, "All I ask is that you treat me no different than you would Martha". (That phrase still tickles me.) Even now, after Martha has revealed her foibles, spent time in federal prison and hosts a terrible show (yup, I think it's pretty hokey), I adore her... perhaps even more! She's real. She's no longer the image of perfection which makes her accessible, relatable, and personable. After I met her (one year ago on 24 February!), and was dazzled by her charm and energy in person, I was relieved that meeting my lifelong "hero" was not a let-down as I had so dreaded. She was friendly (in a very regal way), and as easy-going as I would expect. When she signed her name in her baking cookbook for me, she left cookie crumbs and greasy finger prints which I find very amusing. Her signature literally reads "Marty Stew"- probably not intentional, but very funny. And for all these silly, unexplainable reasons, I will forever adore Martha.