In a moment of insanity, we decided to throw some pre-Christmas dinner parties in the month of November. December can get a little kuh-raaazy. So. We had five, which made for two in one weekend. You probably noticed that the only posting going on in November was Single Shot Sunday. That’s because I was elbow-deep in pre-Christmas dinner party madness.
I still can’t talk about it. Okay. Maybe just a little bit, because I’m talking about it now. Here.
This was an experiment, and what we learned is we can probably throw a maximum of two in a month and
not want to throw ourselves in the creek feel really good about it.
Not that we didn’t have fun. We did. Loads of it.
See, my thought was that the fall cleaning would be done. It was. Everything would sparkle. It did. Components from one dinner — like liquor/flowers/nuts/cheeses/whatever — could be used from one party to another. They were. If I waited a month or two in between dinner parties, that would not happen. The wine would be history, along with the cheeses and olives and every scrap of dessert.
I’m not sorry we did it. We ate, we drank. We laughed, we talked. We threw logs on the fire. It was good.
During this month of merry mayhem, we received two gorgeous poinsettias as hostess gifts.
Poinsettia — the most popular houseplant for Christmas in Canada. I read that somewhere. It feels true.
Here’s the thing.
I’m a poinsettia killer. It comes naturally. It might even be on the genetic code.
I receive them with joy and enthusiasm. Who wouldn’t? They’re all gay and leafy and come in a variety of colors.
I receive them with joy and enthusiasm and hope in my heart that this will be the year, the year that there will be a survivor.
Isn’t she beaut?
That’s it. :: sob :: I repurposed it as best I could.
The second one. The remaining living one. It’s on the hall table. It’s losing leaves, but isn’t in chronic care. Yet.
A confessed poinsettia killer.
Monday’s in the house.
Go ahead. Throw down your best poinsettia tale. I’m all ears.