Poke-Nook, the Lost Glove, and My Cousin Isly
Our late friend Arnie Reisman was a poet and filmmaker, and also a regular panelist on Says You, a witty NPR radio show about words. Over the years I learned a lot from Arnie and his literate pals. For example, did you know that the dark, cavernous inside of a woman’s handbag is called a poke-nook? Remember that word while I tell you about my lost glove.
A few years ago I bought a lovely green winter coat and I found a pair of gloves just the right shade of green to go with it. I was wearing my new green ensemble while walking downtown one day when my cell phone rang.
As you may know, you can’t hit the talk button with a glove on, apparently the human touch is needed which is actually rather sweet. So I pulled off one glove, answered the call, and chatted away. But when the call was over I couldn’t find the glove.
Thinking I may have dropped it, I retraced my steps for several blocks – but no dice. So over the next few days I searched the stores for another pair, but it seems the fashionistas had decreed that green wasn’t “in” that year and many of the shops had no green gloves at all.
Then I tried Lord and Taylor, and luckily found a pair in green that even had a tag attached that read, “Keep your hands warm while you stay in touch! Use with your Apple iPod and iPhone mobile digital devices and other touch sensitive accessories.” How perfect!
A few days later I met my young cousin Isly for lunch. Coming out of the restaurant afterwards I realized I was missing one of my brand new green gloves, but this time I didn’t fret. I knew the gloves could be replaced, but the precious time I just had with my sweet cousin Isly was irreplaceable!
Postscript
Later that night when I was cleaning out my handbag, guess what – I found the lost glove in my poke-nook!
– Dana Susan Lehrman
Dana Susan LehrmanThis retired librarian loves big city bustle and cozy country weekends, friends and family, good books and theatre, movies and jazz, travel, tennis, Yankee baseball, and writing about life as she sees it on her blog World Thru Brown Eyes!
www.WorldThruBrownEyes.com
Arnie knew everything, Dana. He was a writer extraordinaire, clever, witty, deep, thoughtful. He wrote for a local paper in the Boston area before becoming a playwright, film maker, head of our non-profit theater on Martha’s Vineyard, responsible for the big fundraiser for the Boston area ACLU chapter each year. His death last week took everyone by surprise and he was eulogized on the front page of both Vineyard papers.
Your story is adorable. Gloves do have a way of disappearing, but now we know to look in our poke-nooks.
Thanks Betsy, whenever we were with Arnie I was constantly delighted by his wit. What a sad loss for his family and friends and for everyone on the Vineyard.
Great story, Dana, and I love the green gloves you found to go with your green coat (both pairs!). But I do think poke-nook is very weird word that will never catch on in common parlance.
My condolences on the loss of your friend Arnie. May his memory be for a blessing.
Thanx Suzy, poke-nook probably will never become a household word, but it’s now in my vocabulary and comes in handy!
Thanx for the words of condolence, sadly this is the stage of life when we start losing our friends.
Such a sweet and well-crafted story! I like the part where you put the loss of the glove in perspective by comparing it to the value of spending time with your cousin, and then added in the tribute to Arnie. I’m sure he would have been pleased to know he was so fondly remembered.
Thanx Khati!
I love the term poke-nook. Perfect description of that black hole we all know and love. Recently, I lost my iPhone, a tragedy that was happily solved by a good samaritan. But in my quest for that phone, I dumped the content of my poke-nook on my bed. Some interesting finds!
The lost phone story: https://www.laurielevywrites.com/single-post/when-you-lose-your-phone
Thanx Laurie, all of us on the distaff side can surely relate to the poke-nook search!
And thanx for all the tips in your all too familiar lost phone story.
Oh the panic, the panic, the panic!