My break-up with Martha Stewart

Do you ever make yourself crazy for no good reason?  I did once, but then I snapped out of it.  Okay, this is just one instance of self-imposed craziness.  I wrote this column eons ago, but it's a nice reminder to stay grounded in reality.  My towels still don't match. 

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It’s Not Always a Good Thing 

Kmart commercials are really beginning to grate on my last nerve, and it’s not a good thing. 

It was seeing Martha Stewart relaxing in a bathtub on a commercial for her new collection that did it.  It crossed my mind I might get a little bit of pleasure from watching her being dunked underwater in the tub. 

Really, I do not wish her any harm.  Martha made a wise move when she collaborated with Kmart to offer her line to the average consumer.  I am sure she took into consideration the median income of a person in the U.S. was comparable to what she spent on fine linens in the guest wing of her summer home.    

I have not always been anti-Martha, but the commercial about her family preferring a certain dinnerware pattern for their favorite dishes made me want to hurl.  Do her children refuse to eat if their favorite dessert is not served in a green dish?   

I used to watch her show, and I fell victim.  I tried to emulate her artsy-crafty methods on a budget close to 1/100 or less of what I imagine she makes a year. 

I would watch jotting down recipes.  Never mind the fact that I had to look up what some ingredients were to even figure out where to find them in the grocery.  Never mind the fact some of the ingredients were not even available in Bluffton.   

I was hooked.  I was ready to turn old quilts into shower curtains, cook gourmet meals, and have beautiful cats napping nearby as I harvested rare and exotic vegetables from my garden.   

I’d imagine inviting forty of my closest friends over for a dinner party where we’d stroll about my beautifully landscaped yard, complete with a fountain made from milk jugs and a windmill constructed from recycled soda cans.   

We would laugh while I told witty stories as we sipped wine aged in the cellar I dug as a weekend project.  The wine of course was made from grapes I had grown and stomped myself.  

We would walk through my orchard while I showed them the exquisite peaches I would later make into preserves to present as gifts to my guests.  Later, I would show them the canning jars which I’d hand-blown from the glass I had collected in my spare time.   

After a scrumptious meal of delicate lobster I had trapped myself, dipped in a succulent butter I had blended in my very own butter churn, I would give them a tour of my home.   

It would be immaculately decorated from pieces collected on my journeys around the world.  I would tell them quirky little anecdotes about my favorite items and how they came into my possession. If a clumsy guest broke a rare vase, there would be no worries because I owned the last three known to exist.   

I would show them the breakfast room with the glorious morning exposure, the table already set for breakfast the next morning.  I would nonchalantly mention my family absolutely enjoyed the red Fiesta ware that was so hard to find.  The thousands I had spent on it were well worth seeing the smiles on their faces.  

Lucky for me, and our bank account, I snapped out of it.   

Who was I trying to fool?  It wasn’t like I was ever going to take off for a weekend of antiquing in New England, see a copper pot that cost more than my monthly house and car payment combined and announce, “I must have that!”  

I was done pretending to be what I was not.  So what if my towels didn’t match my shower curtain?  So, what if my dinnerware collection was the same I used for every meal?  For a while, though, Martha had me convinced it was not a good thing.  

My family is content with plates that are clean when I serve them a delicious meal of hot dogs and macaroni and cheese.  They are also happy if there’s a dry towel when they are done showering.  I haven’t heard any complaints that the towels are not made from Egyptian cotton in soothing colors.  

While she may continue to create frenzy in others, I am well grounded in reality now.  The average person doesn’t have the time or the finances to do what she does. 

As far as I am concerned, it’s a “good thing” the local Kmart closed.  About the time my family asked for a specific dinnerware pattern with their favorite meal, I’d be the weird woman picketing outside with a sign that said “Down with Martha.”