At last, the weather has shown its sunnier side, bringing with it my desire to be outdoors, turn my black thumb to green, and throw un petit reception de plein air – a garden party of course. If I’m being entirely honest, which I feel like being today, it’s not just the weather, but the fact that I’ve been busting my tuchus and want to sit on the deck, surrounded by flowers, and potted topiaries, feet up, listening to the birds chirp, and sipping rose. If you’d been up to what I’ve been up to, you’d want to too.
Prada . $3,495. or some such unattainable dress (at the moment) My pick – not Miles…
Of course I don’t want just a daisy and a gingham check table runner to set the stage, though that is super cute. I want some elaborate floral arrangement that climbs over the door, runs along the railing, and cascades down the steps, puddling in a perfectly messy splatter at the foot of the stair and beyond. Though I haven’t ever walked atop rose petals or chamilia, I image the velvety feel on my feet and aromatic scent that would fill the air would be lovely.
I want string lights, tea lights and a spot light for the guest of honor. I want fresh strawberries and sage, peaches and thyme, beechwood and basil, just because they sound nice, and I love herbs and fruit mixed together in drinks, appetizers, and floral arrangements. I swear it works in all cases.
I want a flowy floral gown, a la monde, one made of reams of fabric, but light as a feather, that makes me seem other worldly. I want a humming bird to alight on a flower near by and bless me with a season of good luck.
I want the popping of corks and the clinking of glasses, toasting one another to good health and wishes well to the masses. Ah imagination, it’s a terrible thing to waste. Thanks for allowing me to indulge in a fantasy. Off to work.