Two people not named Instant Penis Enhancement or Great Fake Swiss Watch Replicas responded to my blog yesterday. This makes me very happy, especially since both have great blogs that I rarely read because I’m just not a blog reader. When I’m online I’m too busy checking out my bids on EBay or playing Scramble or perusing my Amazon ratings, important things like that. Okay, I do always read Richard Gilbert’s excellent Narrative; it’s the less read of the two Narrative literary blogs, though the other is more of a magazine, and lately annoying because of its unhappy combination of stories and poems by Revered Authors of Our Time and stupid word games and puzzles.
I did have (am having) a quiet Christmas. I’m sick with the flu, which means that Marty and I did not make the three and a half hour trip to visit his parents in Darien, nor to my cousin’s house in Western Springs (both suburbs of Chicago.) We stayed in and I managed to make a very garlicky cheese and spinach dish while listening to Christmas Renaissance music. Marty went out and got me a ponsietta. Poinsietta? Ponsetta? Poinsieta. Fuck. Poinsetia. Poinsettia. Bingo! This among other gifts, but I loved the P-flower because Marty has a not-so-great history with flowers. When we first started dating, he came by with two dozen beautiful roses, white and red. I oohed and aahed—they were lovely—until he broke the spell by saying, with very obvious pride, “And better yet, they were on sale.” Once for my birthday Marty got me a bunch of blue carnations. I’m picky about flowers; blue carnations are not on my list of favorites. Another time, when I asked him to get some flowers for our landlord—an eighty-year old who’d just lost a girlfriend—Marty came back with dried flowers, the kind you find in Pier One, faded to a remnant of their former glory, often with a spiky little ball that looks like a landmine towering over the rest of the withered blooms.
This time, he got it right. I’m not particularly fond of poinsettias, but yesterday I needed a bright little poinsettia to brighten my mood. Just as this morning I needed (and got) some delicious Marty-made pancakes.