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December 20, 2018
Lisa M. Petsche
A couple of Christmases ago, the world’s biggest poinsettia landed on my Canadian parents’ doorstep. At least that was their perception, given its gargantuan size. Indeed, they had trouble getting it through the doorway.
But they love poinsettias, and they were optimistic. Perhaps once we get all the wrapping paper off, it will turn out to be smaller than it appears, they thought. But no, it still looked gigantic – larger than life, in fact. They had never seen one that size, not even at the local concert hall they frequented, where jumbo poinsettias were always part of the holiday decor.
The mammoth plant was a gift from my sister and her spouse in the United States. It turns out they had emailed my parents’ hometown florist with their poinsettia request, providing a price range in U.S. dollars. Translated into Canadian currency, this allowed for close to 50 percent more foliage than they were anticipating. They spent the same amount of money they would have spent on a poinsettia for an American friend or relative, without considering the Canadian exchange rate at the time.
My parents were in a predicament. They wanted to keep the poinsettia, but where in heaven’s name could they put it?
They live in an older home – the traditional, closed concept kind with modest size rooms - that is fully furnished after decades of occupancy. There are no empty corners, no cavernous foyers or great rooms in which to properly feature such a prominent decoration.
Actually, it couldn’t really be considered a home accent, as poinsettias usually are. It was more like a piece of furniture about the size of their living room coffee table, in fact.
Dad decided to call up the florist and see if he could exchange the pithy plant for something more modest in size. The fellow he spoke with was empathetic to my parents’ plight. So dad loaded the poinsettia into his vehicle (thank goodness he owns a van) and drove off to arrange for a trade-in.
He could only trade down so far, however. Having been given a specific price range–rather than a size range – and wanting to respect the senders’ wishes, the florist did not feel it was within his scope to go below the bottom figure. Consequently, dad returned home with a plant slightly smaller but still oversized for my parents’ humble abode.
So what became of the giant poinsettia? Rather than give it away, mom and dad got creative.
The brilliant beauty was prominently displayed in the tub of their main floor bathroom, propped on a footstool to keep it high enough so it could spread its leaves in all their fiery glory. No need for the usual red bows on the mirror or the seasonal fingertip towels that Christmas. A giant poinsettia in the bathtub is as festive as any washroom can get; anything else pales in comparison.
I wonder if Martha Stewart has thought of that one yet.
Lisa M. Petsche is a freelance writer specializing in family life.