IKEA

I went to IKEA today with some mates from Pinewoods, the folk dance camp I'm working at this summer. We ate meatballs and drank pear cider and nearly tipped over with affection for the fair nation from whence IKEA came. I have convinced Amy and Dan to happily learn Swedish in the car with me, using the Berlitz tape we got at the Plymouth library, and which was published in 1989. So, we rode in the rain (because MY how it has been raining!) to Stoughton and found that Saturday is the day that the entire of the population of Massachusetts shops for Swedish home furnishings at reasonable prices, which means that there were 6,349,097 shopping carts being pushed around blindly by overstimulatingly dazed consumers. Despite that, it was great! The food was yummy, I bought a giant, red shoe horn and some herrings in mustard suace, and felt like I took a little weekend trip to Scandinavia. There were a suprising number of Swedes there, I think, though I realize that I can't yet recognize when a foreign accent is Swedish rather than something else. A fine Saturday, "Saturday" and "Sunday" indeed. ('scuse the private joke).