It’s coming. Now that the apartment has been entirely organized and cleared of cardboard, reducing the space to elemental Spartan standards, this new endeavor looms on the rising sun of tomorrow’s horizon. It is, dear readers, the annual pilgrimage to IKEA.
The first of two prime objectives being to make my space a place that feels like home, a sanctuary of warmth and reasonable comfort to, quite literally, “come home to.” And secondly, to encourage after-work productivity in my own dealings, to nudge me to expend my limited time on productive matters, work that is ultimately gratifying and worthy.
No IKEAs in Cuba though. These folks, drifting in their cloud of 1950’s American steel down Calle L in Havana, are not headed to a Swedish mecca of affordable, tasteful furnishings and related homeness. The lessons of travel and life in other lands.
Capitalism, wealth and desire.