This weekend, in between (deep inhale): happy houring Friday; ogling the new Adams Morgan Harris Teeter, whacking a bucket at the driving range, shopping and Indiana Jones with the fiancé in Chinatown Saturday; lawn partying at the lovely K’s, fixing a fresh-from-Alaska halibut dinner for my parents, and watching HBO’s 2000 election snuff film Recount on Sunday; planting flower boxes on my balcony, checking out the 1936 Berlin Olympic exhibit at the Holocaust Museum, grabbing an al fresco dinner and then seeing Errol Morris’ new Abu Ghraib documentary Standard Operating Procedure yesterday, I managed to accomplish a wedding task.
While wandering through the jungle oasis that is Johnson’s Nursery on Wisconsin Ave. yesterday morning, I saw a rack of cache pots that would be perfect for the reception table centerpieces. Ordinarily when decorating a reception table, brides are using cut flowers so the florist provides vases, but since I’m doing a potted plant (orchid) for each table I needed to actually find some pots. And these were perfect and less than $10 a pop, so I scooped up a batch of them. This was on the advice of the decidedly no-nonsense doyenne who commands the floral section of Johnson’s. I was dithering over whether to buy them on the spot—I mean I don’t really need them for another five months—and asking whether they’d be available in October. She looked at me with the most sincere of “you’re an idiot” faces, clearly envisioning the hissy fit I would be having in front of her should they not have this particular pot come October, and said, “You see them now. You like them. Buy them now.” So I did. (see above)
Cross one thing off the list. Only 328 more to go.