The party was a big success and I was proud of myself for not getting too stressed out and turning into Psycho-Controlling Party Bitch beforehand.  Sometimes I can work myself into a frenzy before a big gathering, worrying about the food, the guests, cleaning the house, all the little details.  But this time I was pretty mellow about things (wait, do I hear a snort from YogaSpell, who had to shovel snow for two days so people could get into our driveway?).

At the last minute I decided to make a spinach artichoke dip and it turned out to be one of the most popular appetizers.  I didn’t have a recipe — I just sort of dug through the refrigerator to see what I could do to make something dippy and came up with this:

Yogamum’s Spinach Artichoke Dip

1 10 oz. package frozen chopped spinach, thawed and drained
1 15 oz. can artichoke hearts, drained and chopped
1 cup plain yogurt
1 8 oz. package cream cheese, softened
Juice of 1/2 lemon
Couple dashes Worcestershire sauce
Salt to taste
2 cups shredded pepper jack cheese

Blend yogurt and cream cheese, then stir in remaining ingredients, reserving a bit of cheese to sprinkle on top.  Bake at 350° F for 30 minutes until brown and bubbly on top.

Even YogaSpell, who usually runs screaming from the room at the sight of an artichoke, loved this dip.

I’m so grateful to have so many friends to celebrate with.  When we moved here almost five years ago, we had a New Year’s party and invited everyone we knew in town.  Which was four people.  Last night, we ended up with 40-some guests, counting kids, and it was quite an eclectic bunch — yogis, neighbors, friends from the kids’ school, an old college friend.  I’m not usually the sentimental type (another snort from YogaSpell, who remembers how I nearly dislocated my eyeballs as they rolled back in my head while watching “Titanic”) but it felt good to be surrounded by friends and family on the New Year and to be able to facilitate a fun evening for everyone.

And I think it was worth all of the effort to have had the privilege of watching my 64-year-old mother-in-law dance to “Hips Don’t Lie.”  Now I know where my husband got his moves…