Ikea

As promised to myself before, and unbeknownst to her, a return trip to Ikea was high on my list of "Things to do Upon Arrival of Cathy." We blissfully walked around for two hours in the Swedish furniture store, yay-ing and nay-ing each other's purchases. Do we really need a giant porcupine-shaped footstool? Probably not. Most of our time in Ikea was spent deciphering Swedish slowly, like two historiographers charting maps in some lost civilization of home designers with impeccable taste. Now, if faced with exile or travels within Sweden, I can safely point out the nearest drawer. We returned from Ikea bustling with design ideas for our rooms and fresh color schemes to match.

Afterwards, we went grocery shopping. Cathy, apparently a nuclear physicist in her home country of Northern Ireland, figured out how to operate the oven this morning with only a few singed arm hairs. We ate frozen pizza today for lunch, smug in the joy of having dominated all electrical appliances in the house. We also briefly discussed the schedule for the rest of the summer: in June, we will leave for the southeast of Spain (Murcia), where we will be English professors in a Spanish summer camp. The ages of the children at the camp will be from 7-15, a bit of a scary prospect for me as I've gotten really used to the idea of teaching university-age students. Cathy talked of scaling mini-mountains and swimming in forgotten lakes in the countryside. I asked her if I could bring books instead.