Marimekko has always been beloved - I still remember my kitty cat bedspread, my cars and trucks pillowcases, and my blue dotted wallpaper from childhood. But lately it seems the brand is more style conscious - Marimekko dresses are at Anthropologie (and are cute); Marimekko flowers are painted on Soho boutique windows; Marimekko prints are maybe mimeographed by Oscar de la Renta for his Spring collection.

I imagine soon, kids will color the flowers onto their Converse sneakers with Sharpies.

The print sweep reminds me of 2003, when Murakami’s prints hit the Louis Vuitton bags for spring and suddenly everyone wanted a little smiley flower, stuck somewhere in their world. There were Murakami soccer balls and Murakami comic books. Rockefeller Center exploded with Murakami balloons. I still have smiley flowers pasted to my laptop, a concession for the handbag I couldn’t afford.

And today I find this: Marimekko mouses (mice?) on sale in Japan. The invasion…

Also, an amendment: Last week, I called poetry “prose,” and other mutilations in the post about Supermodel and Beowulf. The story has been vetted, so you can read it again and then order the book on Amazon, before Oprah/ Starbucks/ Dreamworks gets to it…