Red and Yellow and Pink and Green

When I found out my 28 year-old daughter had morphed into an avid NPR-listener, just like me (she even quotes from it in casual conversation), I decided it was time for me to morph into her by turning back into a Fiestaware user, because ooh, la la, [they come] in colors everywhere…they’re like a rainbow.

What? You don’t know what Fiestaware is? Then, it’s time to check it out. We’re talking color here, from cinnabar to the newest hue, lemongrass. Today I restarted my collection with unmatched dinner plates, so I can pretend I’m on an LSD trip as I chow down my oatmeal in a plum bowl, lunch leftovers on a sunflower plate, and dinner on lemongrass and scarlet. If it sounds like I’m now channeling the game of Clue, I’m not. Instead, I’m honoring the brilliance of my daughter’s choice of mixing good, old (but new) colorful dinnerware, started by two strangely-named brothers (Homer and Shakespeare) from Ohio, back in 1871.

This morning I drove to Macy’s, where they were having a buy-one-get-one-free Fiesta sale, with an extra $10 off if I bought everything before 1 p.m. Since I was the only one buying, I had plenty of time to choose my 6 new dinner plates in 6 different colors. This was definitely a radical departure for me.

Travel back in time with me for a second, and meet me, a dyed-in-the-wool white-color lover when it comes to décor (all our walls are painted white, much to the chagrin of one of my color-loving friends). It’s 1984, and I want to replace our set of plastic Heller dishes with something more grown up. I have come late to appreciating the art and design of Fiestaware, but I am a scaredy-cat, so I only have the nerve to buy white, even though I know from a friend across the street who collects the original colors like green and pink, that there are better choices to be made. Since the originals are more expensive than my new lead-free replacements (remember, I’m a cheapskate), I don’t listen to her and scout out oldies but goodies. I do, on the other hand, become an instant convert, even though my new conversion is actually considered a bit tame by New England standards.

Jump ahead a bunch of years and meet my now grown-up daughter, also a convert (she quickly rejects my safe, white color choices, though). She asks me for my original, scratched white set, which I’ve replaced with a new all-white set of dishes from Williams Sonoma (yeah, I’m still a tighty whitey). She, on the other hand, psychedelically leaps and bounds ahead and replaces my original white dishes with a bouquet of colors (old and new, because she didn't inherit the cheap gene). They quickly take over her kitchen shelves, and alienate her future husband, who doesn’t understand Fiestaware obsessions. (But, wait - he’s no stranger to Chicago basketball and baseball obsessions – are you, T?)

After visiting my daughter in Seattle and eating off a different colored plate each meal, I decide to rekindle my Fiestaware obsession, replace white with color and morph into my daughter. Yeah, I’m a copycat, but so what?

From now on in, as I eat on my new plates and listen to NPR (Car Talk, Fresh Air, The Food Schmooze, Colin McEnroe, All Things Considered, or Wait, Wait, Don’t Tell Me), let it be known that I’m proud to share her obsession, act the part of her East Coast twin, and [eat] a rainbow.

White on (or should I say, white out?)!