Thankful Thursday: Ikea
I don't even like to shop.
Still, last week I found myself trapped in the dizzy march of the Ikea maze. Sandwiched between screaming toddlers and dawdling adults is not my idea of a fun Saturday morning. Shopping in a concrete warehouse, under fluorescent lights, is really never a good time.
Except when it comes to paper and pens, I don't like a lot of choice. And Ikea, the behemoth of affordable housewares, offers choice after choice after choice. Smart design, clever ideas. And cheap! It's all too much. Saturated with sight and sound, I started snarling at youngsters (those who hadn't been plopped off at the kiddie corral) and glaring at shoppers who were inexplicably having fun.
When my husband not-so-gently asked if I had brought a book and pointed to an empty table in the cafe (Must everything involve food? I snapped), I jumped at the chance to escape the circus.
There, in the din of consumer overload, I wrote. Page after page in the loopy scrawl of the slightly mad. The rant turned inward eventually and slowed to a less charged pace. I wrote and wrote. Hours later, when the shopping was over and the car packed tight, I had written, rewritten, and polished a poem (one which had absolutely nothing to do with consumer waste, screaming children, clueless adults, or food court stench).
On this Thankful Thursday, I am thankful for Ikea — for driving me over the edge and into a poem.
It's Thankful Thursday, a weekly pause to appreciate the people, places, things (and poems) in our lives. Joy contracts and expands in proportion to our gratitude. What makes your world expand?
Thursday, February 23, 2012 at 09:40AM
Reader Comments (9)
Will you share the Ikea Poem?
I think we all fetishize that mythical quiet solitude that will yield and nurture the most amazing poems we've ever written, but the swirling chaos that swirls around when eve found our way into the eye of the hurricane is every bit as productive. Maybe moreso.
Having a kick-ass doctor. The kind who knows which tests to order, and which will be a waste of time and money. The kind who understands that medicine is not a "one size fits all" approach. Who listens to me and considers me an equal in my own care, not someone who needs to be ordered around. (Side note: bacterial stomach infections are awful. I might actually prefer the viral flu. Although the jury's still out...)
For my coworkers, who keep me going through rough days at the day job.
And for my patient, caring, and supportive teachers in all aspects of my life.
Carrie - Thanks for asking about the Ikea-inspired poem. I'll share it soon. thanks for asking.
Shawnte - That's it! There is this myth of an ideal writer-setting in which glorious work magically appears. But the reality is much more loud, dirty and chaotic. In fact, the reality is, well, reality. : )
Allyson - I envy your medical experience. And wish you good health.
Thanks, as always, for dropping by and chiming in. Nice to have you here.
A great little piece of writing. Enter it in an essay contest.
Reading this creates that can't-take-your-eyes-off-the-car-accident feeling. Not that I am proud of feeling this way, but since you didn't actually get stuck in a car accident, I figure it's OK to tell you.
As for "Must everything involve food...": two thumbs up.
Thanks for reading, Marjorie. And please note: No animals or humans were harmed in this blog post.
Thanks for telling me, Drew. I feel relieved, and didn't want to ask.
If I don't win it, I'll probably buy it, Stefanie Freele has a lot I could learn from and just plain, enjoy.
Well said, Gisele.
I've entered your name in the book drawing (For some reason, your comment appeared under the Ikea post, rather than under Fast Five. But don't fret, you are entered in the drawing). Thanks for playing!