So if I were really channelling Martha Stewart, I would have had an assistant come up with this months ago and done the photo shoot well before Valentine’s Day instead of three seconds after I made a  Valentine’s Day card for my 4 yr. old nephew who had drawn me a sweet one. Martha would have put it in her mag ahead of time instead of two days after VDay, but you get the picture, or you will in a moment. 

Something tells me she wouldn’t have walked by a fading poinsettia in her hallway with fallen, crinkled leaves surrounding it on the floor (that had been there for weeks) and been struck with anything other than contempt. I, on the other hand, in a twist of my brain I can’t explain, figured I could use the blossoms–the good ones, not the crinkled ones–to make a quick and easy card.

impressive, no?

I don’t want to brag, but yeah I do. If my grade school had been a cut-throat place instead of the more basic suck the creativity out of everyone, I would have flunked art. I couldn’t do block letters to save my life, and I couldn’t consistently recreate the simpy sort of line drawn characters favored by the teachers and the two “artists,” Paul H. and Tommy M., in our class. Both nice guys who I think became engineering/architect types.

Combine my art self-esteem issue with my especial knowledge that poinsettias are named after Joel L. Poinsett, former U.S. Ambassador to Mexico, who was born in Sumter, SC where I lived for three years and you have some dull facts that no one cares about. One of only two good places to go in Sumter with kids was Poinsett St. Swamp. I don’t even think I’m making that up. No poinsettias there. So you can imagine how elated I was that within 12 seconds, I had created actual art out of poinsettia blossoms–nurtured nature all by myself. Perhaps I should make another one and send it to Andy Goldsworthy, but I have a sneaking suspicion that the visible Scotch tape might be against the rules of Martha, Andy, and all the art teachers I never impressed.