Party Girl

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I just took the plates out of the dishwasher. They are clean and dry, and still warm as I pack them. I am selling my Fiestaware. I’ve been collecting it for a long time, but it’s time to pass it on and let someone else party with it.image

“Fiesta” means “party” in Spanish. These heavy, colorful dishes bring a casual, “just a few good friends over for dinner” vibe to the table every time. And the Margaritas that have been made in that pitcher…Ay, caramba! My mouth waters just thinking about it.

I’ve put all the plates in a crate that was holding books, which I’ve left sitting in a stack on the garage floor. Next stop. Half-Price Books. The bowls are in one bag, and the infamous Margarita pitcher is in another. I carry them out to the front porch where I will meet the young man who is headed my way to buy them. And as I do my throat constricts.

“You must do the thing you think you cannot do.”  Eleanor Roosevelt

Why? Why am I letting these go? I ask myself that with each thing I give away, or sell. And my reasons are valid. These are too heavy. We are downsizing. We are moving. We are trading all of this for…adventure. For something new and unknown. It’s an “eyes on the prize” mindset that keeps me moving forward. I know that eventually, I will leave everything behind, so why not start the disentanglement now? And why not start with the things that are hardest to let go of, first? Perhaps it’s perverse. Or better yet, brave. Things will just get easier.image

I look at the crate and bags sitting on my porch, and hope that the young man buying them is opening a restaurant…his Craigslist name seemed to suggest that. I imagine myself going to his cafe, ordering a delicious dessert, and it arriving on one of my Fiestaware plates. Full circle. I hope he will love them, and they will serve him and his guests as well, and with as much gusto, as they have me and my friends over the years.

XO Donna

Holy sheet!

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Three things – no, actually it was four- transpired within days of each other which resulted in me ironing our king-sized top-sheet today. It was not unlike eating an elephant. (How do you eat an elephant? One bite at a time.) But once I decided to do it, there was nothing for it but to make it work. Why exactly did I do this?

  1. I saw a Huffington Post article, “7 Skills Your Grandparents Had That You Don’t.” The photo that accompanied it was of a very old woman (probably my age – but that was ancient in the 1950’s) ironing. It was obviously written for a very young crowd because I know how to do everything, except on the list. (except haggling well)
  2. Last week we spent the night in a sexy new hotel by Hyatt in downtown Austin. Our bed was as large as a small island, there was a plethora of pillows, and the sheets were good cotton, perfectly pressed. Heaven.
  3. I saw a FB post by a friend asking,  “How do you fold a fitted sheet? I’m so frustrated.” I wondered what the response would be (I would have suggested youtube). What followed was really funny – only 2 people said look on youtube, the majority said, “Who cares?”  One braggard posted a photo of a wadded up sheet and said, “This is how i do it!”  The phrase that came to mind is: How you do one thing is how you do everything.
  4. My sweetheart dried a set of our sheets on High a couple of days ago. When they came out of the dryer the top sheet was a wrinkled mess and the top hem and piping were crunched up. I looked at that and remembered those hotel sheets. And the little old lady ironing. And Mr. Sheet-wadder’s comment.image

I got out my iron and ironing board and set to work.  That’s the thing with cotton sheets…they wrinkle until they’re old and worn, then they become silky and soft. Too bad our skin doesn’t do the same.  I miss the (dare I say, rough) texture of a line-dried towel and the crispness of the sheets. And they are never wrinkled and always smell great.

I don’t necessarily love ironing, but the process was very Zen-like. Be here now. God is in the details. Just 15 minutes later the sheet was a thing of beauty. I felt a sense of accomplishment. You, sheet-wadder, take that!  I look forward to using my freshly-pressed sheets. Too bad I don’t have time to change them now.

XO Donna

Nothing rotten about it

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imageIt’s back.  The ROT (Republic of Texas) Rally party in downtown Austin is tomorrow night. Motorcycles by the tens of thousands. Bands playing in the middle of Congress Avenue and Sixth Street. Road closures, traffic jams, wonderfully packed hotels, restaurants and bars.  Lots of people come to stroll around and listen to music and see the bikes and bikers. It’s a crazy, crowded, chaotic scene. There are quite a few things that I love about it:

  • We are always invited to a nice rooftop party at The Iron Cactus, and get to observe the parade below as it gets started and the bikes all roll in.
  • We get to see people that we often only see once a year.  Since the years are getting shorter, it’s as if hardly any time at all has passed.
  • We have developed a routine over the years, and we always end up being the last ones to leave Manuel’s Restaurant. I guess that makes it a tradition.
  • I love walking back to our room and spending the night in a hotel downtown when we’ve had enough.
  • Mostly, I love the diversity of bikes, bikers and biker groups.
  • imageThere are avid enthusiasts like ourselves.  Gay Pride bikers. Bikers for Jesus.  Mother Hen bikers. Buddhist bikers. Viet Nam Veteran bikers. Breast cancer support riders. I know that he roughest looking among them do charity rides for a causes close to their hearts. We all ride for the same reason – the pure pleasure of the journey.

Years ago we went to the Exposition Center where the rally itself was being held. It was hot, (mantra: it’s always hot during ROT) it had rained and there was mud everywhere. And in that mud, there were some very crazy goings-on. People misbehaving in spectacular ways. My friend Diane said she thought they should rename it “The Rotten Rally.” Every year I think of that and chuckle as I head out to meet our friends and have a great night. Watch for motorcycles, they’re everywhere! XO Donna

Just add streamers!

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imageI am waiting for a new friend to come to my house to buy my bike. I have been apprehensive ever since I got the message that she wanted it. You see, it’s one thing to say  you are downsizing and need to pass along the things you don’t use, and won’t need.  “I will sell my ____(fill in the blank).  I don’t use it, haven’t in quite a few years.” And it is another thing entirely to let go of it…and all the memories attached to it. (In spite of getting it tuned-up and putting tires on it that cost more than I’m selling it for). It’s a lovely “heart-chakra-green” city bike. I rode it all over Austin when I was younger and lived right downtown. I had a dear group of friends, and we would meet and ride out to dinner, then to the Posse for a pitcher. We’d head over to LBJ Library and jump curbs, do wheelies, show-off for each other, and work up a sweat! Then we’d head back south across the Congress Ave. bridge just in time to watch the bats fly out to catch their dinner, then we’d all go on to our respective homes.   I was in my forties. I was in the best shape of my life. I was fierce, and I was free! Those friends are all still friends – although my BFF Teresa has passed away. Cleaning the bike, I think of her, and wonder what she’d say about my dilemma. Oh, hell, I know exactly what she’d say! She’d tell me, “Awwww, go on. It’s just a bike. You don’t need a city bike anymore. What you need is a cruiser. With a basket. And a horn. And streamers on the handle-bars!” imageTeresa was like that. Always in the moment. And the next one. And the next one. Sunny arrived to pick up the bike.  To celebrate, I opened a bottle of wine for us. Two hours later, I am in love with Sunny! I know both the bike,  and everything it represents to me, will be honored.  Sunny is an amazing woman…and although I’m  losing a bike, I’m gaining a sister! We will downsize and get down to the “beautiful basics” in order to sell our home and move forward. I will strive to stay present every time I feel my breath catch and think that I can’t let something go. (Ultimately, I can’t take any of it with me when I leave this plane, right?)  Did I say how difficult this is???? I will remember why I am doing this, what the trade-off  is: I will feel free again! XO Donna