From vintage to Swedish

First of all: No knitting this weekend. Not because I was too busy. By choice! Yes, I chose not to knit, all weekend. I guess I got a little worked up about that mitten. I needed a step back. Time off. I'll be back in force tomorrow. I need a good portable project because I'll be spending hours at the eye clinic tomorrow.

Once long, long ago, my sister told me a fable about a place she called Heaven. It was huge. It was refreshing. It was hip and affordable. The name she gave it was IKEA.

When I travel to Seattle for my coursework, my classmates make covert trips to Ikea. They discuss what vehicles to travel with to accommodate pilgrimages to Ikea. What they can transport safely back.

So today, I gathered together my family, and we all went to that place called Ikea. As we approached along the freeway, my daughter cried, "There it is!" and my son gasped, "It's huge!" My man looked at the flags and commented, "It looks like an amusement park." It was crowded. It was enourmous. It was overwhelming. After wandering helplessly through the maze of affordable and hip furniture, snagging small ticket items like dishwashable chopsticks and modular wastepaper baskets, we wound up with kitchen chairs.

It's a shame, really. We loved our vintage green vinyl kitchen chairs. They were unique. They were like no one else's kitchen chairs. They were universally admired. However, their very vintageness made them fragile and ephemeral. They could not withstand the love and butts of our lively children. I tired of making trips to the second hand shop to see if they had yet another set of vintage green vinyl chairs. Say goodbye to the pretty chairs!