Mom asked if I would like the old wing chair when she no longer needed it. Inanimate objects can take on a life of their own, and like the family dog, they become loyal and comforting friends. I didn't want to see the "family dog" tossed, so home it came.
The armchair wings conveyed a sense of hiddenness when we were children. With a blanket thrown over the chair, it was transformed into a tent, an undersea cave, a secret passageway. It was a garden landscape to amble through: the fabric is tapestry-like with pale fall roses framed within an octagon border. It was a place where you could imagine you were invisible to everyone who entered the room.
My husband and I keep the lights fairly dim evenings--tired old eyes I guess. Immersed in a book, my daughter took no notice of the garden flowers and shadowy foliage that emerged. The garden may be a little more faded and worn these days, but it's still there if you know where to look.
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