When it comes to holiday decor, I (admittedly) do not know where the line between "tasteful" and "redonkulous" lies. To me, that wreath you made of semi-dead pine boughs, aluminum foil, and glitter should be on a magazine cover.
The fuzzy Santa toilet seat cover and coordinating bathroom rug? Simply amazing.
You've got candy canes that reach up to eighteen feet tall festooning your front door? Awesome. Oh wait … they light up and twinkle, too? Well, that's just dipped in awesome sauce right there.
Also gaga worthy are the elaborate nativity scenes that many of my friends have on their fireplace mantels. My favorites are the ones made of collectible figurines like the Fisher Price Little People or Legos. A nativity scene using both Little People and Legos? Well, plug me in and watch me twinkle.
There is a very thin, very blurry line between tasteful and redonkulous. I fear that gravitate more towards the Wow Wear section of Toddlers and Tiaras than the Pageant wear.
Of course, this could be because I always thought the most beautiful ornament on my childhood Christmas tree was the one I made in preschool out of a Dixie cup, aluminum foil, a tiny jingle bell and a pipe cleaner. A more stunning ornament could not be found throughout the land, including Montgomery Ward (the nicest store in my childhood).
If, on the rare occasion, my spidey senses tell me that I've joined Team Redonkulous, I try (in vain) to see the line that I've not only crossed, but catapulted over. This line is terribly faint and incredibly blurry to me, ergo it is hardly worth my time.
Until this year.
In an elaborate effort to class up myself (and my holiday decor) this holiday season, I decided to make the centerpieces for my kitchen table.
All. By. Myself.
Calm down. This has the potential to end well.
It doesn't end well, but pfft. Whatever. Centerpieces as an art form are completely overrated.
Sometime back in October, I found myself in Pier 1 all alone. Alone. As in no supervision. This is not a good thing because I kinda, sorta lose my mind in Pier 1 and buy all kinds of decorative crap that I have no idea what to do with once I get home. Studies have shown that I should not ever, under any circumstances, be allowed in Pier 1 by myself.
On this particular trip, I purchased three large glass hurricane globes. I don't know what possessed me to purchase three large glass hurricane globes, but there they sit on my kitchen table.
Deciding that they were rather lacking in the wow factor, I purchased some Fall colored candles. I wanted to add some facorns (my officially trademarked term for fake acorns)(once I get around to starting the whole trademark paperwork, which I won't because it turns out to be a huge pain in the heinie), but even I thought coughing up fifteen bucks for a bag of facorns at Pottery Barn was a tad pricey.
Long story short (okay, not really), I now have plain white candles sitting in the hurricane globes on my kitchen table. A couple of weeks ago, I was in the produce section of my local grocery store when a bag of cranberries caught my eye.
Cranberries = festive.
Cranberries + white candles in hurricane globes from Pier 1 = festive centerpiece for kitchen table.
It is stunning, I must admit.
Well … they did look quite stunning. It's not like the cranberries went bad on me. Oh no. I accidentally cooked them.
While they were living the high life on my kitchen table in the lovely hurricane globes from Pier 1.
It's been an usually bright and sunny December here in my section of the Midwest. And there are four very large windows in my kitchen. Windows that face the southwest, thus allowing all that beautiful winter sunshine into my kitchen, directly on my centerpiece.
Guess what happens when the sun shines in on glass containers full of cranberries for ten hours everyday? The cranberries start to cook.
Well huh. Clearly I didn't see this scenario coming.
Think Martha Stewart has a quick solution to solve the problem of accidentally cooking my centerpiece? Probably not. She's never helpful when I need her the most. Want to make a garland with nothing but chestnuts, a drill, and some twine? Martha's your gal. Accidentally cook your Christmas centerpiece? She's no where to be found.
Now I've got to close the blinds in the kitchen on this beautiful sunny day and then I'm off to the grocery store to replace my cranberries. I'm going to spend the next several hours pretending like I didn't accidentally cook my centerpiece.
Let's just keep this incident between you and me, okay?
More from living