Just call me Mary

In college I went through a book with a girlfriend; Having a Mary Heart in a Martha World by Joanna Weaver.  It was decent and definitely worth the read, and it instigated attempts at becoming more laid back, resting in God's presence, and not always having to be a do-er.  

What I realized today during our Thanksgiving feast is that I am a Mary.  I don't think I ever was a Martha, but alas, I got caught up with the trendy reads.  Sitting in the dining room with my brilliantly cultured uncle and his European, fellow vegetarian wife, drinking four different types of wine throughout the evening and speaking on topics from European culture, to literature, and the newest happenings in Greenwich Village appeals to me more than standing over a hot stove with my grandmother, mother, and sister, butchering the turkey with a thirty year old carving knife. 

Usually my hands are more useful in the creation of side dishes and baked goods, but this Thanksgiving I cooked nothing.  Actually, I nearly vomited this morning when I walked in on my mother with her hand underneath the turkey skin rubbing it with spices, in what looked like something out of Silence of the Lambs.  

I have completely migrated to one end of the spectrum.  Not that my Mary-heart has made me complacent and unmotivated to do God's work and serve others, but I would much rather be driving around aimlessly in my car singing praise at the top of my lungs, than washing dishes after a church dinner.  I am not unwilling to do these things, but I find pleasure in spending time with people and just resting.  

Is this bad?  Is this balanced?  Thoughts?

On a side note, it might not be such a bad idea to revert back to how Thanksgiving was once celebrated; with fasting and prayer.