I have always been a Mary and not much of a Martha. This is not so much a matter of theology as it is a matter of biology. And as the lesser feast day of Mary and Martha of Bethany is celebrated on July 29th, this seems a good time to reflect on their story. I previously posted this on my personal blog: Unorthodox and Unhinged. Reading it over, I thought it worth sharing again – especially in these mental-health-challenging times.
So, here I go…
As a babe, barely out of my mother’s womb, I preferred the library to the laundry room. As a toddler, my favorite toys were blocks and rocks – in that order – not pots and pans. As a grade schooler, the household chore I excelled at most was getting out of household chores. In high school, rather than dust the bookshelves I would read the books. My mom’s favorite magazines were Family Circle and The Lady’s Home Journal. I preferred my dad’s Scientific American and Journal of the American Medical Association. (Not that I could understand either, but I liked the pictures!)
The domestic arts are just not part of my DNA. And now all grown up — my house and my home — will never quite qualify for that “Good Housekeeping Seal of Approval”.
Good Housekeeping, of course, has been the magazine of choice for homemakers since it was first published in 1885. Recently while plowing through boxes of books, I discovered two vintage issues: October 1953 and March 1957. Each is nearly 300 pages and a bargain at 35 cents. The contents are packed tight with domestic delights. Featured articles include: “Hostess with the Mostest”; “Mother is a Lady”; “Man Talk”; and the “How Did We Ever Get Along without Cellophane Tape?”
Each issue has thirteen categories covering every conceivable domestic discipline: Fashion; Needlework and Sewing; Medicine and Health; Bureau and Chemical Laboratory (Don’t ask! I don’t know!); Textile Laboratory; Decorating and Building; Beauty; Teenagers; Children’s Corner; Food; Appliance and Home Care; and Automobiles. Apparently the 1950’s iconic mom could change a tire just as expertly as she could change a diaper.
(Homemakers, of course, can be any gender. But this was the 1950’s. Hang in there with me, please!)
One issue has a ten page “Hotdog Cookbook”. The other has the “Wisconsin Reducing Diet” based on cheese.
But best of all are the ads – advertisements for every household, cooking, cleaning and beauty item under the sun.
“I wash 1400 pounds of laundry a year…but I’m proud of my pretty hands.” Jergen’s Lotion only 10 cents plus tax. (Transfigured just like new!)
“Only the Sunbeam toasts with Radiant Control…that gives the same UNIFORM TOAST….Bread lowers itself automatically…Toast raises itself silently.” (Resurrection Bread!)
“Palmolive Soap is 100% Mild to Guard that Schoolgirl Complexion Look!”(Baptized like a newborn babe!)
“Crisco ends pie crust failure… Use Crisco, it’s digestible!” (Baptism by ordeal!)
It is comforting to imagine June Cleaver — of Leave it to Beaver — in her shirt-waist dress, pearls and pumps — her house neat and tidy as a pin and nary a hair out of place. June Cleaver, the iconic reincarnation of Saint Martha of Bethany. Saint Martha, the manic version, was my mom’s patron saint.
Growing up on 24th Avenue, the household chaos was measured in baskets of laundry, beds to be made and dishes to wash. On the high side, our house was House Beautiful. On the low side, our house was Mad Magazine. Raising a family of six kids in the suburbs with a workaholic doctor for a husband would make just about anybody crazy — and so it did my mom. My mom on the high side became a manic Martha extraordinaire.
So, I became a Mary — a quite contrary one. My mom loved to cook. Not me. My mom loved to shop. Not me. My mom loved fashion. Not me. My mom loved to decorate. Not me. My mom loved to clean. Not me. My mom loved to collect stuff. Not me. My mom loved to plant stuff. Not me. My mom was definitely a Martha. I was decidedly a Mary.
Or at least so I thought. Until the day…
I was magically transformed into Martha Stewart on Speed. The magic potion that worked this wonder was a decidedly delicious anti-depressant cocktail. It’s counter-intuitive but chemically speaking these little pills can push the “max button” on the bipolar blender. Maximum speed. Maximum energy. Maximum ways to mix and match a million little things.
So, I stayed up nights hanging pictures on my walls, turning sheets into window treatments, and spice racks into towel racks. I created collages and decorated bulletin boards. I framed post cards. I potted plants. I arranged and rearranged knickknacks and whatnots. (I even dusted them!) I alphabetized my bookshelves and cleaned out my closets. I fluffed pillows already fluffed. I vacuumed floors already vacuumed. I even manically made my bed over and over. But I did not sleep in it, at least not very much.
But I would crash there when my addled brain ran out of steam.
“Good Housekeeping” is actually a great guide to the bipolar brain. A bang-up barometer, indeed. In therapeutic language it’s called monitoring your “ADLs” – Activities of Daily Life. Laundry. Housework. Yard work. Grocery shopping. Cooking. Cleaning. Taking out the trash. Making meals. Doing dishes. Folding clothes. Checking the mail. Paying bills. Playing with the cats. Taking a walk. Phoning a friend. The rhythm and routine of daily life attests to the state of our health and wholeness.
Keeping house is literally about keeping healthy. When a loved one does way too little housekeeping or way too much, it’s time to be concerned. It’s time for a loving conversation to see what’s really going on. It may be time to talk with a counselor. Time to make an appointment with a psychiatrist. No, you are not crazy. It’s just the right thing to do.
And I, myself, have become quite a convert. Home is where the heart is and my home has become a sacred place — an outward and visible sign of my inward psychic space. Order, color, texture, sight, smell and sound – orchestrated and arranged — keep my bipolar soul – healthy and whole.
(And I have discovered that you can make more than just coffee in your kitchen!)
Just the right amount of Mary and just the right amount of Martha — biblically speaking — helps to keep our heads on straight. Just the right amount of Mary and just the right amount of Martha brings peace and balance to unquiet minds – bipolar and not.
And it is not just me who says so. Jesus says so (Ha!). Jesus said so right there in Martha’s living room — while Martha fussed in the kitchen and Mary listened at his feet.
“Martha, Martha, you are anxious and troubled by many things; one thing is needful; Mary has chosen the better part; and it will not be taken away….”Luke 10:38-41
All things in moderation, my dad, Dr. Peacock, so wisely used to say. Good Housekeeping, a blessing in disguise!
The Rev. Joani Peacock, Editor for Emmanuel Voices: A Parish Blog