Flashback to the ’70s
I was a child of the early ’70s. My parents were terribly sensible for their age group, but my distant Aunt was very fashionable and I suspect a ’60s reject!
Obviously, my parents did not approve!
She lived on the side of a steep hill and ran a pony trekking center. To get to her house it was always a terrifying ordeal for me.
First we had the crowded and stuffy hour long car journey along twisting roads;
Then we had to climb the lane past the protective killer geese;
Meander our way through the pony yard. Being only waist height at the time I was close to their clattering hooves. And closer still to their teeth and tails… never mind their you-know-whats;
When we finally reached the house, it still wasn’t plain sailing because her aged dad lived there and he terrified me more than the geese and horses combined.
After I once expressed relief when he had died, he was described to me as ‘funny’ and ‘harmless’. I disagree!
After going through these trials of Hercules, I would, if very lucky, be allowed in the living room that was part of the house where my Aunt lived.
Oh the joy.
My fondest memory was once, as we stepped into my own version of Eden, she greeted us from a chair.
This may not at first appear an odd thing to do… but this chair was suspended from the living room ceiling and was made of woven wicker and bamboo. Her long colorful dress flowed down the sides and wafted in the light breeze as she gently swung to and fro. All she needed was some flowers in her hair and the image would have been complete.
My parents didn’t disappoint us and were, as expected, horrified by the whole thing. They spoke of little else the whole ride home.
Oh, except for the wedding she had – do you remember that ghastly colored cake? And do you know she ate popcorn for lunch? I’ve never seen her wear slippers, and in that house near all those horses, well, the floors. And was wealthy Great Uncle Jim safe do you think?
I spent the journey home gazing through the misted up car window thinking of this amazing chair.
I’m not sure if the attraction has been the chair, or whether it’s because my parents hated it so much, but I’ve always had a bit of a secret desire for a chair like that. A nest to curl up in. A cocoon to snug into and read a book.
While searching for garden furniture, I found this rattan wicker hanging egg so, of course, I had to do a review of it.
Click the red to read..
I’m now off to hunt out some 60s and 70s music to get me in the mood for my new chair…