Party in the Hills
You could sit in the kitchen and stuff yourself with good food--nearly everyone had brought a dish. You could sit in the parlor in front of Richard's magnificent woodstove, surrounded by naked women--figureheads, sculptures, pen-and-ink sketches--if you didn't mind sharing with a Great Dane. You could dance on the deck to the bluesy rock band. You could wander through the showroom and admire the antique stoves. You could grab a beer and sit around the fire pit. Or watch the fire dancers perform. Or listen to the swing band out by the dragon's lair. Or tour the stone pathways looking at all the jack o'lanterns guests had brought. Or just sit by the pond and stare up at the harvest moon.
Plenty of people remember the Sixties. We look back on the era of peace and love with fond nostalgia from our vantage point as corporate successes or failures, frustrated housewives, disappointed dreamers. A few people never lost the vibe, and still managed to make good. Richard Richardson is one of those people.