I, Martha

Well, at the ripe old age of 33 I'm officially past my prime - at least lately. I've gone to sleep at about 8:30 every night since we've arrived here in Kathmandu; wonderfully exhausted and flopping into bed, certain to wake up again at an equally early time the following morning; 6 a.m. today.
I guess it has something to do with the endless flights of marble stairs and expansive floors and balconies I've been sweeping and washing, or just the task of moving the contents of our suitcases up and down three floors as I decide what goes where.

It's great exercise, taking care of a house this size - and I feel a sudden scary kinship with Martha Stewart as I place white candles in rows of silver metal bowls down the center of our darkwood dining room table, carefully wrap the ugly cushions with handmade beaded Nepali pillow covers, measure windows and doors for those flowing white must-have curtains, or select matching kitchen towels in greens and blues (hung creatively to hide whatever strange food-art the previous tenants - a Japanese family I've heard - made on that particular wall).
It's alot of work, but an equal amount of fun, and the domestic goddess in me is reborn and happily wiped out.

I only wonder how long it will last.
I'm famous for growing tired of washing dishes and simply tossing them out in favor of a new set, or letting the laundry pile up while insisting that we can just *buy* new boxers for my darling rather than go to all the trouble of actually running the machine. (Should be no shock to me then that when I did unpack our things and nicely folded Hamid's unmentionables he had a solid 32 pairs - my own closet languishes as yet with piles and piles of everything waiting to be hung on the shiny silver hangers we purchased at Bhat Bahteni, the local Kathmandu version of Target but with a really first-rate section of imported wines and cheeses.)

I'm even cooking (gasp!) and have made tiger prawns with spinach tortellini, salads drenched in balsamic, thick and fragrant french toast, and well...OK, that's about it. But in all honesty it's only a matter of time before I defer to the delivery service offered by Kotetsu, the Japanese sushi place on Lazimpat just up the hill from our Samakushi neighborhood, and live solely on raw tuna and miso soup - not a bad way to manage life at all if you ask me, especially when one considers that the fish is flown in twice weekly after being hand selected in Japan by the owner himself.

All in all, settling in has been a wonderful experience. Waking up in this house surrounded by crisp bright sunshine, flowers and rose bushes, and twittering birds (a sound I have long missed while living in Bangalore) is something akin to a daily spa holiday and lends itself nicely to my laissez-faire take on what needs to be done and when - a truly modern version of what it is to be a homemaker.

I, Martha? Hardly. But it's a heck of a lot of fun to play house.