In the new fall television lineup, there are two shows above others that have fascinated me. The first is Flash Forward because I don’t mind seeing a weekly dose of Joseph Fiennes (because I instantly recall his ink-stained Shakespeare hands, and frankly, that is just a lovely thought). The second is The Good Wife. I am fascinated by that show in part because I admire Juliana Margulies character’s steely resolve, namely, that she never lets on to others what is happening in her mind. She showcases picture perfection calm reservation, the same principal trait that I admire in Queen Elizabeth II.
I lack said characteristic. However, in my adulthood, I am attempting to cultivate said characteristic. My tendency to wear my heart on my sleeve punctuates all of my other imperfections. And my other imperfections are many (not including the least of which is starting sentences with “and”).
Chief among these flaws is my utter lack of domestic skills. I am a decent, although non-noteworthy baker, but aside from that, I lack the kind of home-making skills that are commonly valued at LDS women’s enrichment activities. I don’t know how to sew, my design skills are sub par (beyond having walls lined with bookcases full of books, I don’t know what to do with a room), and I am downright awkward around children. In the presence of those possessing these skills, I am like a fish out of water. In fact, the only thing that can sustain me in these types of situations is my superficial knowledge of a vast array of topics that enables me to at least briefly sustain a conversation on most subjects. As long as I can talk about something, I can usually weasel my way out of having to do anything.
But as I get older, I am starting to realize that having decent conversation skills is no longer enough. Good domestic skills that translate into praiseworthy marriages and families are now on showcase all across the Internet. I see it on practically every blog that I look at these days. And yikes! My blog looks so ungainly in comparison. I guess that is a pretty accurate depiction, though, of my domesticity in comparison. So when I see these picture perfect Internet displays of domestic felicity in the way of well-groomed children, doting husbands, and perfectly coiffed wives, I am trying to go back to that most important “Good Wife” that I lack -namely, the veneer of reserve and formality, to mask the internal, “What the hell am I doing here?” that I probably am experiencing.
In the meantime, I will still have my awkward blog prose.