We were having dinner last night and in the table conversation hit on what is your “happy place.” Jack insisted it was her bed, bedroom door closed, where she can shut out all of the stress and noise of the day. But Jon countered that his happy place was an enormous castle atop a cloud in the sky, being driven across by harnessed dragons, while Black Sabbath played live. Kat said her happy place what right here right now, around the table with good friends. Mine is spending the day on a stretch of the Noontootla Creek at Three Forks, on a July day, wading in the creek with my family in the shade of a stand of enormous hemlocks, throwing rocks, playing cards, kibitzing with the AT through hikers.
Where is your happy place?
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Perhaps an empty house where I am free to strap on the Hamer, turn up the old Vox, and chug through the handful of tunes I can play cleanly.
Or on my jet ski, converting gasoline to noise and carving up placid waters.
Cold football Sundays on the couch with a fire is nice, too.
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