I'm Back in Philadelphia, after My Morning with Ma ...

I'm back in Philadelphia, after my morning with Martha, which was lots of fun. For those of you who watched, thanks.

For those of you who found your programming pre-empted due to Presidential press conference (that would include viewers in Philadelphia -- my husband & daughter; Hartford -- my Mom's entire book club, and Fort Lauderdale -- my Nanna), I will attempt to reconstruct the day's events with words and pictures.

6:45 a.m. -- Hair and makeup guy Algene arrives in my hotel room with bags of makeup, blowdryer, curling iron, trowel.

8 a.m. -- Friends and assistant depart from hotel in taxicab heading to studio.

8:15: Limousine, loaded with me, agent and mother makes way along treacherously icy New York City streets to the Martha Stewart Show.

8:45: We arrive! Join publicists Marcy and Dana in Martha Stewart green room, which is fabulous. Walls painted beautiful soft shade of apple (Martha Stewart paint?). Buffet piled with fresh-baked blueberry muffins.

Cheerful assistant sticks head in room: "Cappuccino, anyone? Latte?" Hands down, best green room ever.

9 a.m.: One hour until showtime. Introduce self to Jane Green (v. lovely, accent just like Posh Spice!). Coo over Westminster-winning Frenchies and Chows. Hair and makeup guy, meanwhile, eyes my mother with interest of cannibal at fat camp.

9:10: I return to room to find mother in makeup chair and Algene fussing over her with a curling iron. Enjoy latte. Take pictures with publicist Marcy, whose hand and/or back of head usually appears in magazines beside pictures of movie stars.

9:30: Mother rendered unrecognizable (hair curled, eyelashes mascara'd), whisked off to studio audience.

9:40: "Hello!"

I lurch to my feet. "Oh my God! You're Martha Stewart!"

Martha Stewart smiles, acknowledging fundamental truth of her Martha Stewart-ness. Then frowns. "It's kind of dark in here." Martha Stewart flips light switch that none of us have noticed before, and room is flooded with light. "You see that?" I ask everyone. "Martha Stewart can do anything!"

10 a.m.: Show starts. We watch on green-room TV set. Frenchies. Chows. Butt-sniffing. Martha is not amused.

10:15: "Do you ever have lots of herbs left over at the end of the summer?" Martha asks chef. Chef says Yes. I say Yes, too. Am totally lying.

10:18: Chef shows Martha how to infuse vodka with basil or mint; makes tasty-looking martini. I worry that she'll hand them out to audience and mother will get tipsy.

10:30: Makeup lady fusses over me with powder puff and lipgloss. During commercial break, while production assistants scoot around re-configuring the set, I take seat at small turquoise stool next to Jane Green, who is next to Martha.

10:40 -- 10:44: Blur. I may have said something about the folly of critics judging books by their pink covers, surreal experience of seeing fellow gym-goers reading books. Martha, I am pretty sure, said something about being propositioned by Sean Connery.

10:44 -- Commercial break.

10:40-10:50: Blur. I'm pretty sure, when asked if I adapted IN HER SHOES for the screen, said, "A friend of mine once told me that a writer trying to adapt her own novel is like a mother trying to circumcise her own son." But really, do not want to hear self talk: want to hear end-up of Sean Connery story.

10:50: Back to green room, where my mother -- no joke -- manages to jam door and lock herself in Martha Stewart's bathroom.

10:55: We interrupt your regularly scheduled programming for this Presidential press conference. Producer sticks head into green room, shrugs. "Huh. Well. Sucks for 'The View.'"

11:15 a.m.: Belatedly realize that Presidential press conference means it also sucks for everyone who didn't get to watch the show live.

Ah well. They'll rerun it in the summertime.

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