The Pipe

The manner in which things transpired at the U made it so, that instead of being able to go to the cigar shop on Monday, which was my Dad's 102nd Birthday, I instead went on Tuesday afternoon.  I did this mostly because with the unexpected U challenges on Monday, I would have felt it would be a rather rushed experience.  Tuesday had inherently greater flexibility.  

When I arrived, there were none of the "Retiree Cigar Group" fellows at the shop.  Other than the shop worker, there was only one other fellow, who I did not know in the shop.  I figured this might be the case, so I brought some paperwork with me and also brought with me the book "Hidden Valley Road: Inside the Mind of an American Family" which I have been reading sporadically.  It is a book looking at the potential genetic aspects of schizophrenia through the lens of a biography of a family with twelve kids, six of whom developed schizophrenia. The case is well known in neuroscience circles, but this biography is very well done and helps to integrate the conditions into a much more honest and real context.

So, I go up to the counter with a Brickhouse Maduro "Mighty-Mighty" which I have found to be a reliable, predictable cigar.  If none of the retiree fellows showed up, I would simply save it for next Thursday.  But, then I also asked the shopkeep to please give me an ounce of Lane 1Q which was probably the most interesting of the few pipe tobaccos they had.  The shop had this (and all their) pipe tobacco in bulk form in larger glass jars.  He looked at me slightly quizzically at first, but did bag up the ounce.  I mentioned to him that I was going to go upstairs to find a quiet spot to read and/or fuss with the paperwork I had.  He nodded.  

As I sat down in a comfortable leather chair and peered out and about (you could see much of the first floor as well, as the second floor was only a partial floor, with a sort of internal balcony of sorts.  I opened the pouch of Lane 1Q, and as I had anticipated and expected, it was incredibly, excessively moist.  This is by no means abnormal.  Most pipe tobaccos are SOLD in a VERY moist state.  But, the heavy moisture content is NOT conducive to pleasant smoking.  Most, if not all, dedicated pipe smokers know very well that they want to allow time for their pipe tobaccos to air dry considerably before indulging. 

So, I stuffed the Lane 1Q into the pocket of my sport coat.  From my coat's breast pocket I withdrew the small pouch of "Three Star Blue" I had purchased, hell, perhaps two years ago one of the times I was in Chicago and visited Iwan Reis.  I also withdrew my pipe (The one I had brought was my Dad's well used, Dr. Grabow Omega with me), and fished out my Zippo from my coat as well.

The process and pattern of opening the pouch, filling the bowl, etc, felt still so natural and "second nature" to me.  The bowl of the pipe fit so reassuredly comfortably in the palm of my hand, like they always had.  

I spent several minutes thinking about my Dad, his birthday, my love and appreciation for him, and of course how I missed him too.  I did NOT cry, but I admit I felt a larger than normal amount of lacrimal fluid flowing across my eyes. 

With my thumb, I opened the lid of my Zippo, and it provided its unique "klink" sound upon opening.  I then spun the flint wheel with my thumb and a soft, yellow flame erupted.  I brought the flame to the bowl and slowly nourished and coaxed the flame into the leaf.  I then, with my index finger, gently tamped the leaf within the bowl to an even level, then repeated using the Zippo to draw the flame more deeply into the bowl to create the ember of leaf and flame.

* * * * * 

I am at a loss for adequate words to describe the indulgence in this bowl of pipe tobacco.  Although wholly inadequate.... the best I can summarize is that it was utterly "beautiful" in every regard. I simultaneously felt emotions of calmness, serenity, joy, and peacefulness.  The flavors I experienced were rich, diverse, wonderfully vivid, and tasted wholly exotic.  My mind felt simultaneously invigorated and yet also felt deep tranquility.  I sat in that leather chair, not moving much if at all, for at least a good 45 minutes, gently sipping from the stem of the pipe as I quietly gazed both outwardly about the room and also inwardly in my mind.  I stayed that way through the point where every crumb of the pipe tobacco had transformed into a soft, grey-white ash, and the ember quietly expired.  

I continued to sit there for probably another 15-20 minutes, just continuing to allow myself to continue to bathe in lingering, yet slowly dissipating feelings and thoughts percolating through my body and mind.

* * * * *

I never did get to my book nor the paperwork I brought.  After a while, I gently knocked the ashes from the bowl of the pipe into the nearby ashtray, stowed my pipe, pouch and Zippo away, picked up my book and papers (and reading glasses), and shuffled downstairs to the main floor.  

I was walking over to the coat rack, where my (weather style) jacket was hanging near the front door of the shop.  But, then one of the fellows from the Retiree's Group came in (Jim).  He was in his (usual) talkative mood.  As he selected a cigar, I told him I would sit and talk with him.  We sat in the usual "Retiree's Circle of chairs near the front of the store.  I did indulge in the cigar I had purchased as well, while I talked with him.  Even though it sounds even to my ears, rather illogical.... while I did enjoy having the cigar.... it was in NO way or form anything like the beauty of that single bowl of pipe tobacco.  I am at a loss myself on how to explain it.  But it was DIFFERENT.  

The cigar was enjoyable.  The chatting was wonderful.  But the cigar was nothing like the pipe was.

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