YOA Update #3: Time to Make the Awesome

Needing to wash an unusually large quilt (Because isn't that how all great stories start?), a few weekends ago I went to a laundromat for the first time in nearly ten years.  My last regular visit was while living in a three-story Brooklyn walk-up.  Let me just say, few things are more humbling than schlepping a laundry cart full of  "unmentionables" across one of the borough's busiest intersections.

Thinking back I smiled, thankful for my current stackable washer/dryer and laundry/grocery cart-free lifestyle.  No longer that young, but often still naive, "I'm sure laundromats are so much nicer now"  I told myself.

A few walkable blocks from my house (I drove), was Fatima's Lavanderia.  Once inside,  I instantly was surprised and oddly relieved to see that nothing, and I do mean nothing, had changed.  Apparently, the universal sameness pact of laundromats everywhere had managed to stay intact - rows of well past their prime washing machines and dryers; laundry carts having seen better days; and a handful of mismatched and uncomfortable plastic chairs scattered around a tired looking vending machine.  The only sign of the 2010s, at least that I could tell, was a flat screen TV aggressively bolted to the wall playing a closed caption telenovela.

Poor Joye!

As I sat waiting for the spin cycle to end, florescent lighting and boredom coaxed me into a stream of unconscious thought. I stared through the fingerprint smudged plexiglass, eyes fixed on a package of presumably stale Hostesses mini doughnuts.  "Doughnuts" I thought, "Doughnuts!!!"  

Revelation or hallucination, it's hard to say but also not important, I'd unconsciously connected the doughnut dots to realize the strangely reassuring significance they'd played throughout my life and fondest memories.  Some people had favorite numbers, lucky charms, or inspirational quotes, I have DOUGHNUTS!!!

My bottom half unfazed by the extreme discomfort of the plastic chair, I vividly remembered the Saturday mornings my dad would surprise my sister and me with doughnuts during cartoons.  In my Duke of Hazard PJs and on an early AM sugar high, I was convinced that I'd marry Luke Duke.

When I became mobile, bike not phone, a neighborhood pal, who shared my love of all things puff pastry, and I rode our 12 speeds across town, definitely beyond acceptable "play" parameters set by our parents, to claim our FREE dozen donuts from a new bakery's grand opening.  While I wasn't as ambitious and only ate three, my pal who thrived on rebellion, big and small, quickly consumed all 12.  Needless to say, we were forced to make an emergency stop at the park where he puked still glazed chunks near the twisty slide. 

Several years older, a high school friend and I coached a team of unruly but talented 5th grade boys in YMCA basketball.  At the start of our first practice, we were greeted by, "You can't be our coaches!  You're...  GIRLS!" The way we gained their trust in our extensive knowledge of the game?  Doughnuts!  Win or lose, and we mostly won, after games we'd refuel their energy and loyalty with deep fried and frosted goodness.  "You're pretty cool...  for GIRLS!"  Back then, their parents praised us for feeding their kids.  Today, I'm not so sure doughnuts would be an acceptable allegiance buying option.

More carb conscious in college, I channeled my undying doughnut devotion into smaller, less calorie filled snack cakes. Especially during finals, Little Debbie and I were BFFs, as her zebra cakes were to die for.  How I stayed thin I'll never know, but now wish I could bottle and sell.

Speaking of now, my metabolism not what it use to be, there have been far fewer doughnut inspired memories made. Remember the iconic Dunkin Doughnuts commercial from the 80s and 90s where Fred the Baker famously quips, "time to make the doughnuts" as he gets up, goes to work, comes home, goes to bed, and does it all over again?  Well, that's more my current doughnut reality.  

Don't get me wrong, if I suddenly found myself drowning in a vat of frosting, I certainly wouldn't call for help, but perhaps it was time to make the awesome instead of the doughnuts.  

MAKING THE AWESOME  
With Baker Fred in mind and my freakishly irregular quilt taking an eternity to dry, I decided to focus on my recent non-high fructose moment. 

•  Learning the "fast part" in Royals from my preteen niece, while on our way to the movies, "But every song's like gold teeth Grey Goose, trippin' in the bathroom..."

• Reconnecting for coffee with a college summer romance.  ME: "I think it's been 20 years since I last saw you!"  HIM:  "I know.  Crazy!  I've often wondered about you.  You've always had a spot in my heart and memory."

•  An evening text conversation with a friend who always knows how to make me laugh even when insulting.  ME: "If you ever tell anyone I did that..."  HER:  "Oh honey, your life's not that exciting."  ME: Sigh, "I know, right?"

• My inspiring Pilates instructor, who's the ONLY person I'll get up early for on a weekend fully knowing that her primary goal is to "kill" me.

• And…  Someone really great making me dinner (no frosting needed).  Who knew there was such a thing as avocado infused olive oil?

After completing my lavanderia mission and while driving the few blocks home, I desperately craved something rolled in powdered sugar.  For nostalgia sake, I stop at a new hipster doughnut shop.  What did I find?  A wheat doughnut frosted with avocado and dark chocolate sprinkles.

And so my new memories begin…