Does not everyone have their own little nook or cranny where they can go? Maybe it is not a room, but a cave. Maybe a bench in the local museum, but does not each one of us in effect have our own little place where we can be alone by ourselves with our own thoughts, to mope, think, wonder or ponder? I think we do.

For years my cozy nook was wandering around in Happy Jack. Afore that when I needed quiet, needed to be alone to think and to work out something or solve a big problem, I walked. Summer, winter, spring or fall; middle of the morning, middle of the night. I would just go out and walk. The time I spent walking was proportional to the problem at hand.

I remember once when we lived on Seneca. I was having a personnel problem with a young captain at work. Should I beat the hell out of him, kick his butt bloody, ignore it, or what? How was I to effectively solve the problem, alleviate the dilemma?

I remember we had dinner, had pork loin, baked potato and a green salad, along with a bottle of Almaden Mountain Rhine. It was snowing, snowing pretty hard, but I got up from the table. “Going for a walk,” I said and donned my coat, hat, and set out. I walked, I kicked snow, I thought. I pondered as I continually puffed on my pipe. All at once I stopped and looked around. Where was the road? I could only see some faint, dim lights. By this time it was around ten thirty at night.

I retraced my walk in my mind, did a little analysis, and walked a certain direction. I found the road and the curb, and then I knew where I was. I got home. I was the walking snowman, but, oh yes, I had solved my problem, and the next day, I brought the young man in, sat him down, and handled it as smooth as could be.

Yes, I had been in my cozy nook, but this time it was not so cozy. Well, it was my nook and my walk, so it was.

Even today when I have something on my mind, I go walk, slowly walk and ponder. And yes, I have the computer room, which is my nook. A bedroom that is my computer room: two windows and a big office chair. I sit, fiddle, and no one bothers me. I do not answer the telephone, I do not answer the door; I am in solitude and alone in my own little nook.

But albeit nicer, I guess the shed and fiddle-faddling is the best cozy nook. Turn on the stereo (it is always tuned to a Denver Classics station, so no ads, no distractions), just do my thing with no interruptions. Oh no, I have no telephone out there, and I am not important enough to have a cell phone. Oh, I will get one when I become important, oh yes, so I can walk around with my phone, drive around with my phone. But most of all, he hee, sit on the phone and talk to friends. But I do not have any friends I call, and people do not call me.

Yep, that big old shed, with speakers up high in each corner does propagate some good sound. The only time my wife comes to the shed is when it is required.

Cozy nook. Do I really have a cozy nook? I do have lots of places where I feel near secluded, alone, able to think and do. But walking is still the best place. For then no one is ever close.

 

© By Tom (tomWYO@aol.com)

 

 

 

Watch these pages for more musings by Tom.
In the meantime, click the links below
for other poems and stories by the authors at Lara's Den.


Those April Showers

The Gate

On New Friends In Old Age

A Room Under The Eaves

The Journey

The Crowded Bird Feeder

A Lovelorn Welshman

Teddy Bear


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