"Don't judge a meatball by its picture in the parking lot"

So I took my 48th trip to Ikea yesterday, but this time in a car with a friend. I met Bettina at the IWA (english speaking club) meeting in April and had explained to her that everytime I go to IKEA I can only bring one or two small items back because I have to be able to carry them on the tram. She promised me that the next time she took a trip out there she would call me.

Bettina is from San Francisco and moved out here after college at age 22. She is now in her 40's, so obviously, she never got around to moving back. She has two girls that came to Ikea with us. Katrina, 6, and Magdalena, 3. To kids, Ikea is fun time. They are cute and intersperse their German with English.

We had lunch there and I was loving it because I be loving their Swedish meatballs. I used to see photos of these in the Ikea parking lot in Houston and laugh and say "that looks disgusting, who eats that?"...I was sorely mistaken. They are delishy.

And to my (and Art's) delight, the sell them frozen so we can have them at home for dinner.

Afterwards, Bettina drove me back to their house so she could let me borrow one of their bikes. I have not ridden a bike since ...a long time. She lives in the hills sort of outside the city...my fingers were red and aching from slamming my tiny nuggie hands on the breaks so hard down that hill. Dang, people, I am not used to this. Oh, and there's a basket in the back for my bag-o-kottbullars and purse. Then I got into the city and I was so confused on how the bike on the streets system works. I was riding on a sidewalk and an old man gave me a mean look and yelled something in German...I'm sure he was saying I looked dang good riding my bike. Actually, I think I wasn't supposed to be riding on the sidewalks. I finally made it home and locked that thing up. I think I will wait until Art gets one and we can ride on the weekends.

Wiedersehen...time to go put the kottbullars in the oven.