Memories.... A Series (#2)

With the nicer weather, I rousted myself out of bed earlier than typical of late and went running at 5:50am.  It was nice to see the early morning light arise and the sky had beautiful orange hues during most of the run.  While I wait for my morning cereal and blueberries to become pleasantly soggy, and while my instant coffee is warming up to boil in the microwave, this seems a good time to write.  

I am actually all caught up for once in my electronic courses, so I am going to use today to good advantage, I hope, and get my upcoming Summer course (sadly also electronic due to Covid-19) fleshed out a bit to try to be ahead of the game .  But, also, today is a good day for another bit of my "Memories" series...

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Please note, if you have not done so, and wish to read part one of this essay, please scroll down to the first entry where the "Memories... A Series (#1)" essay begins.  Again, please remember that these words reflect my mindset from several years ago when I originally put them to paper.  They were my views, but are not wholly reflective of me today, although they show both the memory and now also a memory of sorts of how I wrote several years ago.

As I continued to talk with my father about my school day, I also continued to more acutely watch my father's actions as well. After he had filled the bowl of the pipe with the crumbles of leaf, he (again not diverting his gaze from me or our conversation) used tactile sensation with his fingertip to gently tamp the leaf a bit more firmly into the bowl. He brought the curved black stem of the pipe up to his mouth and gripped it between his heavy and very white teeth. The grip was a gentle and loving one, and I noticed how the heavy hairs of his mustache and beard encircled the stem of the pipe, his mustache cascading over and around the top.

Striking a match, my father brought the flame up to the bowl and began to draw the flame into the leaf, melding the two together and causing thick, rich, grey plumes of smoke to be emitted. Only after the bowl was well-lighted, and after he responded to another one of my statements with a question of his own, did my father slowly draw on the stem of the pipe, and inhaled one of the great plumes of rich smoke deep into his lungs. As he slowly exhaled, I watched and noticed perceptible changes in my father's facial features. His furrowed eyebrows seemed to grow less intense, the bristling of his mustache and beard quieted and seemingly relaxed, and even his eyes seemed to grow softer and more contented. His grin became broader and more gentle.

I found watching this process very interesting as a youngster. I kept trying to figure out what had happened. My father is and always was a kind, attentive man, but there was a perceptible change I could see in his whole demeanor in just the span of perhaps 10-15 seconds, where he became EVEN more himself, and less affected by the work he had been engaged in. His face grew even more kindly and more the father I was used to interacting with.

It was surprising and interesting to see these changes, but what was the cause? To me, this was many years prior to my becoming a scientist well-versed in the scientific method, but even at that young age, I believe I enjoyed and appreciated order and began to look at the situation as systematically and logically as an eight year old could. After bypassing a few other possibilities, I concluded that his pipe must be the likely source.

As you would expect, my father was a venerate pipe smoker,  for decades before I was even a twinkle in he and my mother's eyes. It was always a friendly companion of his, emitting a variety of pleasant aromas. While I was always aware of the site and odor of my father and his pipes, I had never really examined he and his pipe smoking behavior in any depth. It simply seemed to be a hobby or avocation he enjoyed. The reason for his enjoyment was not particular understandable to me, but neither did I think about the issue all that much.

Seeing that change in his expression was interesting, and noteworthy, however.  To me, linking his pipe smoking to his demeanor was the first clue I had about why he enjoyed his pipe. To understand more, I decided to watch him more closely and carefully.

That is what I did for the next couple of weeks.

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Another good stopping point for now. Comments or suggestions are always appreciated.

PipeTobacco