Better living through Fiestaware

So, I've mentioned that the really significant project at work right now is shopping for a new CMS to power the web site. It's a commitment of hundreds of thousands of dollars, when you really get down to figuring not just software and yearly maintenance fees, but also the price of implementing it, which means we'll basically be starting over from scratch.

Meanwhile, in a similarly huge personal commitment, I am in the process of buying a house. Given the enormity of this investment, it's not surprising I've approached the whole experience much as I do a project at work-moving things along, setting goals and deadlines, really getting serious when it was time to get to business. Lucky for me, the choice in house looks more solid than in CMS (because as several people have already pointed out, there's no perfect CMS; you settle with any one and usually commit to a lot of customization).

The thing about it is, when you enter Significant Decision Mode, even the minor choices start to look like the struggle of ages. Remember Fight Club, when the narrator laments the loss of his Ikea couch? “You buy a couch and you think 'that's done, I'll never have to buy another couch.'” Obviously, that line stayed with me because I haven't seen that movie in a couple years (a lot of that movie stayed with me, and not just because Dirty Brad Pitt--as opposed to the less desirable Clean Brad Pitt--was in it). I feel that way about the couch I've almost picked out, as well as the dishes. All of these objects have begun to play into my self-concept more than I'd like to admit.

I've had dishes before, and I got tired of them fast. I was relieved when my mother took them off my hands because she wanted them for my parents' vacation home. (Interestingly, she just confessed that she's now tired of them too. Don't know if it's just that particular pattern, which is inoffensive enough.) So buying dishes promised to be a monumental, teeth-gnashing decision, which I avoided by sticking to a promise I made myself long ago-the promise of Fiestaware.

I don't even know how long ago I decided I would one day own Fiestaware. Probably some time during college, and long enough to have forgotten it until I was in the store with Mom Saturday, and suddenly faced with the crisis of a sale. The sale was so big it required a snap decision on a big commitment. Think of how much time you spend looking at your dishes-eating, washing, drying, putting them away. They'll be my partner when I entertain guests, more reliable at this point than any boyfriend. And just as I secretly feel a thrill of dread at the thought of a boyfriend, much less a husband, how could I pick just one pattern of dishes?

The answer: Fiestaware-a higher level of china, where matching is based on symmetry and shape, rather than color. This is a noble order that appeals to the concept of plateness, or mugness, or bowlness rather than mere surface treatment. You break a mug and buy another in a different color, and it still matches. The more discordant the shades you combine on the table, the better. It's kooky, crazy and fun! You never have to worry about your pattern being discontinued because Fiestaware will outlive us all. Just watch out for the radioactive vintage red set (Cadmium, as Shinybottlecap has kindly warned me).

I picked out two sets of orange and two sets of leaf green, congratulating myself on a solid investment. I felt the satisfaction, even the peace of mind, one might feel buying life insurance. I may not have life insurance, but I have determined the course of my kitchen for years to come with Fiestaware.