Wednesday, January 22, 2014

No roaring or wrecking balls necessary.

Do you know what my Mother in Law's 90th birthday and a trip to Ikea have in common?

Nothing.  Other than we accomplished visiting both last weekend.

I'll admit that I have a love of cheap furniture specifically because when my boy children destroy it, I don't regret not forcing them into swaddling blankets until the age of 15.  They've had their way with their mattresses, three couches, several toilet seats and a house full of wall to wall beige carpeting.  Any number of my furnishings have died slow agonizing deaths covered in dirt, crumbs and bodily fluids.

Ikea furniture is booger proofed.  That's entirely useful!

The store itself...un-useful?  I finally made my way out of it gasping and doing the potty dance.  I commented on my Facebook, "I went into Ikea with high hopes. I left with no sense of who I am whatsoever."
...and, "Should have just taken care of business in a Knodd."

The last thing I wanted to do as the exit came into view was to eat a meatball or search for the restroom.  I wanted out.  I needed the freshest air that the Salt Lake valley was capable of delivering at that moment, which was none too fresh, but still better than the pervasive scent of melamine.  Booger proofed Ikea may be but soul suck proofed it definitely was not.

It took me a good half hour and a salty batch of deep fried pickles to feel like my happy go lucky absent minded self again.

As for my Mother in Law, I'll also admit to having a deep love for her.

She's not cheap furniture.  She's all the more wonderful for wear.

Ninety years.  Can you imagine?  From the Jazz age to Big Band in high school, Bob Dylan with the kids, Duran Duran for the grandkids, and Miley Cyrus or Katy Perry for the great greats.  Of course, if I asked her who Miley Cyrus or Katy Perry were, she wouldn't know, and that's why she's a part of the greatest generation. 



She says she doesn't feel ninety years old.  She told me that the moments, the days and the years pass by before you know it.  In one second you're sixteen, waiting for life to begin and in the next you're ninety, still seeing life as that sixteen year old but with a lot more self assurance and a lot less tolerance for all the stuff that doesn't matter.

I'm only next to forty and I can only wish for as much grace in the next fifty years as this woman has between breakfast and lunch.

...and if I stay out of Ikea from this point on, fifty more years is entirely possible.

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