A Stab at Poetry

I have always regretted in my public school education that I did not get to experience instruction in the writing and reading of poetry.  My school district had enacted a (IMO in hindsight foolish) "speed reading" curriculum for "advanced students" and the way it worked was that in my High School Sophomore English class..... the "advanced students" were pulled from one 10 week marking period (of the six) in our year-long English class to form a small cohort of six of us who would learn the "art and value" of "speed reading".  This 10-Week marking period would have our English grade inputted by the "speed reading expert" teacher instead of our normal English teacher.  

I loved English, and even though I was mildly curious about learning "speed reading" because it was "all the rage" for a while,  I was annoyed to miss my regular English class.  And, then.... to make matters worse.... the marking period where I was selected to be in that "speed reading group of 6" ended up being the marking period where my English teacher was working through poetry...... something I did not really understand, but WANTED to learn about.   

There wasn't much I could do about these decisions as a 15 year old..... so that was what happened.  In my "speed reading" marking period, I did learn and master the "techniques" of speed reading, and I could "speed read" at a VERY rapid rate after this instruction.  

But, I actually DISLIKED speed reading as it removed nuance, and artistry from the written word in ways that I thought denigrated the BEAUTY inherent IN reading.  It had me feel "mechanical" as if just a robot, and it did not feel joyful.  

But, I did my work and earned my "A+" for that marking period for being a "great" speed reader...... but then proceeded to never really use "speed reading" again..... except perhaps a small handful of times where I felt under prepared for a test and pulled some last minute "cramming" by using "speed reading".  

But.... the problem was that I MISSED THE WHOLE DAMN MARKING PERIOD of instruction about how to understand, interpret and write poetry.  It felt like a truly BIG loss to me.  Do not get me wrong..... I loved all the other marking periods of my English class in Sophomore year.... the marking period of "classic literature" the marking period of "creative writing" , the marking period of "grammar and syntax", the marking period of "modern literature" etc.  But I felt cheated by not getting the poetry marking period..... and instead learning "speed reading".  

So, over the intervening decades, I have occasionally taken several stabs at learning more about poetry on my own.  But, it is a damn hard subject.  Things I read are all over the map, and reading/writing of poetry does not have any real conventions, I find.   While this may and likely is true..... and this lack of conventions is true for MOST every subject at some level..... I know (and regret I did not have) that my dear old English teacher WOULD have taught me a basic "framework" of what poetry was/is that I could have used as a foundational stepping stone to then allow me to see beyond that framework to see and UNDERSTAND how and why poetry has moved beyond that "framework" into all its permutations. 

But, without that "framework" that would have been taught to me by my teacher...... I feel rather handicapped to understand, interpret, or write poetry to this very day.  I see poetry..... I can read poetry.... I can even take a stab a writing poetry.... but it does not seem truly something my mind has the frame to UNDERSTAND.   

Maybe it is just my mind haranguing about nothing important..... but to me, it does feel like I missed something important. 

So, everyone once in a while (probably every year or two), I try to write something that seems like it might be poetry to me.  I am usually "amused" at the results, but tend to think it is just silly trash.  Not really poetry, but what kind-of, "sort-of" poetry.  I often thought if I would have had that marking period of instruction, it would have given me the "framework" to have a knowledge I wanted..... not necessairly to become a "poet" but I also thought it would have helped me to understand.... poetry.... and also how to "understand" or "feel" the writing of lyrics of song as well.  Lyrics of song are perhaps more approachable to me.... but the mechanics of trying to write lyrics also alludes me.  I have "song" in my heart, but I do not really have "tools" to work with, and only can do what is at best, mimicry.  

Geez, that was a long-winded, not thought-of in a long time memory for me.  I apologize if it was as dull and dust, but when I do recall some things, they dredge up a lot of feelings.  

So here is my "pseudo-poem" that I cobbled together of a memory of a time camping many years ago.  I kind of meandered around with putting it together while I was feeling moody late last week and into the weekend, trying to get out of my "mood":

Ceci est une Pipe 

[with apologies to Magritte and to people who speak French]

A polished briar nests within my hand,
a sculptured curve of wood with a tarnished silver band.

I pinch the cubed leaf, so rich and brown,
and pack a bowl as the sun settles down.

A flame erupts, a light of amber and gold,

to awaken slumbering flavors, rich and bold.

A timid draw and a first sweet flavor I take,

on my tongue swirling notes of rum and spice awake.

Hints of toasted nut and vanilla blend,

much like long-ago conversations with a friend.

Velvety smoke ascends in tranquil rings,

with slow reflection it hazily brings.

Chalky smoke paints air with shapes that drift and fade,

akin to dreams of light and shade.

Worldly worries and burdens cease,

supplanted by stillness and a settling peace.

Yet within this calm, the mind awakes,

as thoughts colesse to arise as a dawn that breaks.

Aroma supplants the evening chill,

nurturing elegant charms that hold the mind still.

My senses stir, refreshed and alive,

beneath the darkening canvas of sky.

As glowing embers fade to ash of gray,

tensions and grievances all wash away.

I find a tranquil joy in every draw,

for time stands still, and life's stresses withdraw. 

PipeTobacco

New Week & Comments

It is a new week, and the last one can be only viewed in my rear view mirror.... I am not unhappy about that.

Yesterday, though, my wife and I went to an outdoor wind band concert, and it was so wonderful, peaceful, and beautiful!  The theme was "Movie and Theater" songs across the ages.  It was wholly delightful.  My two favorite pieces were "Phantom of the Opera" and "The Incredibles".  I guess that may not be overly surprising as both feature extensive, very fun parts to play in the low woodwinds (aka bass clarinet, hah!).  

I had not written comments to comments in a while, so I thought I would do so today.  As usual, I group my comments by putting the original comments in alphabetical order of the name of the commenter:

AC

“I think everybody gets the basic games even without a subscription.

Perhaps….. I had never really explored anything NYT related until we received the electronic subscription by my U.  Of course, I would occasionally take a luxurious day to buy and read stem-to-stern a physical copy of NYT when I wanted to relive the old “newspaper” days that I do miss. 

‘Do other profs also dress like that? It stopped for me and fellow teachers in the mid-80s, but maybe it has come back.

Profs dress in virtually any context/style you can imagine at the U.  There are some that do look like and act similarly to homeless souls, a fair number just hang around in jeans and casual t-shirts, some wear sportswear attire most of the time (track suits, etc).  I know of one professor who wears pajamas every day, and another professor who wears his doctoral gown and full regalia to each and every class.  

For me, my attire…… is an honor for my Dad….. pants-wise, kakhis of one or another color….. or occasionally very nice jeans…… shirt-wise….always a long-sleeved, button down collar shirt (various hues and patterns)…… and a traditional, long, necktie and sport coat of some sort (vest in high heat, Summer).  The necktie actually served two functions…. one to honor my Dad, and two….when I used to be “portly” (aka Canon-esque), I felt more comfortable wearing a necktie, as it seemed to “bifurcate/bisect” my considerable girth and helped me feel that my girth was “less conspicuous” if that makes any sense.   My sport coats run the gambit….. but I especially like corduroys, tweeds, and dark-blue blazers.  Although my penchant for corduroy and tweeds probably harkens back more to 70s and 80s fashion..... other, more modern sport coat attire akin to mine is work perhaps by ~15-20% of the male faculty.

‘Your memory stuns me.

My memories of dreams are sort of hit-or miss.  Some dreams I remember very, very fleetingly….. but some I remember in rather exacting detail.  I do not know the reasons for the difference, but suspect it may have something to do with the TIMING of when I awaken within or following the dream.  But, I am not really sure.

“We have few of those in the house, even in the somewhat cooler downstairs because my wife runs very hot. Their footprint is much better too

I have been awed and amazed at these odd-looking “tube” fans now that we have two.  I would never have thought they were anything special….. but they truly are……… by being both POWERFUL and QUIET.  It is somewhat of a dream come true for the reasons previously stated.  

“That does seem like a short night for a whorling man, but I realize that everyone has different requirements.

If I had my druthers, I would have between 7-8 hours of sleep a night.  But, that rarely happens, and truthfully, most of the time, I feel guilty for the sleep I DO have.  

DB Stewart

‘You reminded me of the time (as a young boy), I sampled my father's snuff, a strong but disturbing memory. Wistful though since I wish I could dream this to see my father smile and laugh again.

Haha!  I can imagine.  My Dad was never a big fan of snuff (neither nasal nor “chew’)….. although he had an ancient tin (nasal) and pouch (chew) in his tackle box when I was a kid. So, I never really had a lot of interest in either…..I do not remember trying either until I was much older….perhaps 19 or 20.  

I too miss my Dad, and I often wish I could spend more time with him again.  I just realized, it has now been 32 years since he passed away.  It still seems like it was SO recent.  

DMP

‘I think if you described this dream to one of your Parish Priests, he might have an opinion as to the gentleman's identity and purpose that may surprise you.

He calls us in all manner of ways. :-)

I am intrigued by your comment.  If you are thinking it is an allegory for me to become more active in my Parish and in my faith life….. I HAVE been looking for ways that I could do something more meaningful beyond just the traditional commissions and groups in our Parish.  If you would feel so inclined, I would enjoy hearing more details of your thoughts about your comment above.

GaP

“I like this dream.

It was one of the most pleasant dreams I have had (and recalled) in perhaps the last year or so.  It was delightful in every way…. and it was especially nice in that it was not just a “memory” dream of something that did happen in the past….. it was akin to a “movie” of sorts….something wholly new and exciting.  

Margaret

‘I'm so sorry for your issues with this child.

Thank you.  I do appreciate that you can understand how hard it can be (though I wish you did not have to feel the worry/concern you are facing with your own child).  It was just so out-of-the-blue and has changed the dynamics within our family so much, that it makes me cry.

‘I absolutely love your sampling of dishes from various cultures; I would love to try them! I'm a small plate person who loves bites of many specialties. I wasn't that impressed with Korean food when I was there, but perhaps I didn't try the right dishes.

For both me and my wife, that is one of our favorite parts (of many favorite parts) of travel….. being able to sample cuisine we do not have available at home.   I usually am not a big fan of “Korean” style cuisine, as (at least what I have been exposed to) much of it is very oily and/or fried….. which I just simply do not like in ANY sort of food. The Korean “sushi” we had, however, had no fried components at all…. and it helped me to greatly appreciate the Korean spices, flavors, and textures in the food.  

It may seem odd…. but when a food is oily or deep fried, I usually cannot “get past” the texture/smell of the oil/frying and I taste little if anything beyond the oil.  

“I'd wondered about the expression pipe dream and now I know! The details that you remember about the dream are astounding. I can usually remember bits and pieces of mine and they quickly fade

Yeah, I always find it very interesting when I can find out the origins of various colloquial phrases of that sort.  I so enjoy words and metaphors and analogies….. I always have.  

“Your dream has such detail; I'm impressed! I wasn't as big a fan of Theo of Golden as you although it was a decent discussion at Book Club.

I do so appreciate it when I have dreams that I actually REMEMBER….. but it is very hit-or-miss where dreams are concerned.  There was a recent period where it seemed I had LOST all ability to remember dreams…. or even if I was HAVING dreams….. but then it has now returned……  sometimes sketchy/hazy with little impression…. or better yet…. sometimes super detailed like the one I wrote about.  Those are (of course) my favorites.   I am really enjoying "Theo of Golden" especially since I had feared it would be an "Oprah-esque" book like my wife tends to favor.  It has been gentle, kind, and refreshingly joyful..... now of course..... I am only ~1/2 through...... and I have been coaxed by modern media to "anticipate" this is a calm before the storm, and any moment there will be some sort of "mass murder" or the protagonist will reveal his is a vampire or some such thing..... but I am keeping my fingers crossed that the work will continue on its wonderful path to a satisfying, pleasant conclusion.   

“I swear I'm not highfalutin' at all but I have that top fan in my bedroom (except in black) and love it! The remote control comes in very handy too.

Haha!  I apologize….. I just always had thought those fancy contraptions were just “rich people” toys….. and I do now admit I was completely mistaken….. they are SO MUCH better than old box fans….. so strong AND simultaneously QUIET!!!!  

Pam J

“Wordle addict here. And other NYT games, too: Connections and Strands. Breaking a winning streak is awful, well, painful at least. But getting Wordle in One is a mood-lifter.

I am, I believe, now at Day 21 of a “Wordle Streak”!  Today’s word (Monday) was in my opinion….. VERY, VERY HARD, though.  It took me all SIX tries, and I was actually lucky in that I guessed it……. I felt sure I was wrong about today’s word…… it seemed TOO discipline specific for it to be a Wordle word.  I had thought of it around my 4th guess…. but kept dismissing it as a “NO WAY IN HELL WOULD THEY USE THIS WORD” type of word.  I was shocked at my last available guess, when I just put it in thinking I had lost….. and it WAS the word!

“You can probably explain, scientifically, why a human body would stay in one position for 5? hours. A nontechnical term might be exhaustion? And I agree with Anvilcloud: Maybe if your body had been allowed to wake up when it was ready you would have felt great.

Hah, yes, I probably was exhausted…. hence no moving.  I would like more sleep…. but then I feel guilty about “wasting the day” when I SHOULD be doing SOMETHING.  It is a sort of “no-win” situation that plays in my head, I guess.  My resting heart rate while I have been sleeping has been typically around 44 – 48 the last few years since I have been running.  But in the last month, it has on several days been actually in the 35 – 38 range.  I should go back and see what my resting heart rate was on the day above when I was so exhausted.  

Pat M.

“I have to admit, Professor, that when I first saw the title of your post I thought you were going to tell us about your day's challenges that weren't as concrete as so many others you have shared.

So, never mind. :-) Perhaps this new academic verification procedure has something to do with the increasing ease of AI-related fakery?

From what I understand, the whole change resulted from one person who complained that she did not know or want to be a co-author on an abstract that was submitted by someone else in the prior cycle…. and this is why now everyone has to be verified.  It is a bit frustrating that when one person does something incorrectly (not notifying a co-author), then the lion’s share of us who do try to do things correctly…..end up getting more work and hassles.  

I guess that is it for today’s post!

PipeTobacco

Dark Storm Clouds

 

With thoughts of "Father's Day" coming up, yesterday unfortunately, I went into a very dark, cloudy emotional space.  I had begun to think about my kid that I no longer write about here.  And, although things with this kid are on a relative "even-keel" at the moment, I still feel (when I allow myself to wade in such thoughts) extreme hurt and despair...  and a longing for what was, what could be, but likely never will be. Without honest communication, things will simply remain surface-level.  

Yesterday was quite bad for me emotionally.  I tried to force myself out of it by pounding out more running miles and more weight efforts.  By nightfall I had migrated into a numb neutrality.  I still find myself in that state thus far today.  

* * * * *

The U provides us faculty with a free, basic, electronic subscription to the New York Times.  Even though it is not as fun nor enjoyable to read electronically compared to old school actual newspapers, I have grown accustomed to reading it on my tablet, and it is nice.  

A "new" discovery for me, regarding the New York Times, is that in our basic subscription, I had not noticed until a couple of weeks ago that we had access to some NYT games.  I had always presumed they were not part of the "basic" subscription.... and in fact, most are not.  However, I did find out just recently that there are TWO games that ARE free within the basic subscription..... ONCE A DAY....... Wordle and Pips. Pips is basically a mathematics game using dominos and is relatively fun.  But, I am especially enjoying Wordle, now that I know and figured out the goals of the game.  I had heard about the game before, but never felt inclined to pursue it, until I saw the NYT example.  

I now have been playing the game once each day for the last three weeks.  It took me a bit to figure out how the game worked and to develop a strategy... but I am able to state that after I solved today's Wordle, I am in the midst of an 17 day streak.

PipeTobacco

Five Stars, IMO!

Even though today is a long, arduous day of big voice lecturing, I wanted to get a small post in.  I am eating my cereal at the moment in my office during a brief break.  I did hit the pavement at 5:07am to get my run in.  It is cooler here today, with the high only expected to be 75 (~24 C).... so I am wearing a regular sport coat while lecturing (instead of the vest I usually wear above 85 degrees (~29 C).  Of course, with either the sport coat or vest I wear a long-sleeved shirt and tie.  And, in labs, I wear a lab coat. I have always done this all the decades I have taught.... out of respect for my Dad.  He told me to dress properly to show RESPECT to the students and their education..... and not to dress like a (his words) "damn Hippie".   

My pouch of "Three Star Blue" is sitting open on the desk before me.  I really did not need to purchase said, as I still have "Three Star Blue" at home.  But, I so enjoy its aroma, that I thought I should get a pouch to have me be able to admire its beautifulness while at work.  

It truly is an amazing, traditional blend.  Having it permeate my office with its charms has me thinking more about trying to figure out a way that I could possibly enjoy an occasional pipe again.  I think I have to figure out how to muster a more steely resolve with regard to this in that it may be too difficult to find naturally occuring "barriers" that will help me regulate myself.... and that I have figure out simply how to be so damn stubborn with myself that I will not fail and fall off the wagon.

My wife is already planning to meet me at the U to pick me up so we can head to the pool after I am done for the day!  Imagining being submerged in the cooling, refreshing water is so pleasant.  And, I get to feast on "Taco Tuesday" tonight as well...... I cannot wait to delve into the taco salad built to heaping proportions in a bowl bigger than my head!!!!

PipeTobacco

Monday Matters

Late morning on Friday, I went and traveled to the "Endo Expo 2026" that was held in Chicago.  It was a nice meeting.  I do not often go to this particular meeting as it tends to focus more on CLINICAL aspects of endocrinology and not so much on EXPERIMENTAL endocrinology.  I had not been to this meeting in perhaps a dozen years.  But, with a lot of my current work focusing on the neuroendocrine aspects of steroidal hormones on development, it was especially interesting to see a new MEDICAL focus on examining PMOS (Polyendocrine Metabolic Ovarian Syndrome) [which was formerly called PCOS (Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome)] from the standpoint of hypercortisolism.... something I have been talking about in classes, and having some of my researched viewed with that mindset for around a decade or so.  As clinicians have a strong tendency to be rather "cookbook recipe" focused in their practice, there is often a considerable lag between experimental research findings and actual mindset change in clinicians.  

My wife and I had the extreme pleasure of eating at Chicago's "Sterling Food Hall" while there, and we had delightful Indian food from "Saffron Street", we tried a "roll" from a Korean place called 82 Kimbap, and we shared two small empanadas from "Thimi's Argentinian Empanadas".   The Indian street food was delicious, but we had expected that... as we love Indian food.  The empanadas (one was spicy chicken and one was tomato-basil, aka "Caprese") were cute, fun, and delicious.... and I was also exceptionally happy they were BAKED empanadas, not fried.  The bigger surprise was the "roll" at 82 Kimbap.  Kimbap is, I presumed by what the food looked like... and then also read about for confirmation later in the evening.... somewhat akin to a Korean type of "sushi" roll.   But, it was significantly different in flavors than the Japanese types of "sushi" rolls we have had many of.  The texture of the rice was less "sticky" and less predominate, the seaweed wrapper was softer and more flavorful (as if it were possibly marinated in spices?) and the spices in the central core were more vibrant.  And, it came with a delightfully different sort of light, spiced vinaigrette type of sauce as well.  It felt "familiar" as "sushi" but also much more exotic than what we were used to.  We loved all three places we sampled small dishes from.   

I believe I have mentioned the "hot pot" soup restaurant we went to when we were in Puerto Rico last year.  It was a wonderful, Japanese style restaurant where we made our soup at the table with all sorts of vegetables we chose to cook in the steaming broth at the center of our table.   Well, on our next evening in Chicago, we stumbled across a Chinese version of a "hot pot" soup restaurant, and tried it.  Chinese flavors are not so much my favorite, but my wife really likes them, so I was game to give it a go so she could experience it.  Whereas the experience in the Japanese version was tranquil, serene, and very fun and flavorful.... this Chinese one was very different.... the food was decent (again, Chinese spice flavors are not my favorite, but my wife enjoyed them greatly), but the restaurant was more of a "festival" sort of atmosphere.... workers rushing around VERY rapidly, considerably more noise, and,,,, I kid you not.... at one point, a bunch of workers came around through all the aisles, dressed as "dancing Ramen noodles" and singing.  It was a very interesting experience.... but reminded me a bit of a "Sid and Marty Krofft" production.  

We attended Mass on Saturday at Old St. Mary's Church as it had the most workable location and timing for us in this very, very busy weekend.  It was definitely a wonderful experience, getting to visit parishes in other towns when we travel always is... and experiencing Mass always helps me to feel much more centered and focused as well... amongst the hecticness.  

Time intervals were TOO TIGHT to allow me an actual opportunity to hang out at the beautiful Iwan Ries tobacco shop like I would have liked (I even brought a pipe, just in case I could have squeezed in the time).  However, I did get to speed in there for a minute, giving me enough time to purchase another pouch of "Three Star Blue", which was such a beautiful, magical experience of gentle flavors the last time I had visited.  

* * * *

We arrived back home at about 2:00am this morning.  It was a productive whirlwind time.  I allowed myself the luxury to sleep in to 7:30am, before I got up to run, and then head to the gym.  Other than tend to my rodent's needs, I had little else work-wise to accomplish at the U, having worked diligently last week to get ahead some,... knowing today would be better if it were not so jam packed with U needs.  I should be plenty ready (fingers crossed) to do my usual (for this time of the year) 9 hours of "big voicing" tomorrow.  

PipeTobacco

The "Pipe Dream" Part 2

The above shows the stem and position of the P-lip opening on a Peterson.

This one shows the stem with a "fish-tail" opening on a Peterson.

(continuing from yesterday's post....)

The nattily dressed fellow simply sat on the bench looking at a few pigeons that were walking around near the fountain.  He proceeded to pull out of his pocket a small paper sack that he reached into.  He began to spread small crumbles of bread out for the birds.  

The fellow seemed content, and displayed a calm demeanor.  

"Hmm.  Would you mind if I smoked my pipe?" I asked the fellow.  

The older fellow slowly turned his head and looked towards me.

"By all means, young fellow." he said, his voice somewhat quiet, but solid and articulate.  

His voice had an accent of sorts that I could not fully recognize.  It had a slightly British aspect to it, but was not truly of that nature, but similar.  

"I had decided to sit here, when I saw you withdrawing your pipe from your pocket.  For you see, I too am an aficionado of the briar myself.  I thought that I might join you on your adventure."

I believe I must have developed a quizzical expression, for I could feel my eyebrow raise.  

He smiled.

From the front waist pocket of his tweed sport coat, he extracted a pipe that I immediately recognized as a Peterson pipe.  It was a large-bowled, full-bent variety, deeply brown in color.  The pipe had a "P-lip" which is a bit of an oddity.  A "P-lip" is a stem style where the portion of the stem that you grip between your teeth has its "opening" facing upward at close to a 90 degree angle to the stem itself.  This contrasts with the more common "fishtail" stem which has the "opening" is at the distal end of the stem itself and runs parallel with the stem.  I never really liked "P-lip" stems, as they did not feel as comfortable to me as a "fish-tail".  Most pipes have the fish-tail type opening, only a small subset will have a "P-lip" stem. 

I looked away from the fellow, realizing I was spending far too much time watching/staring at him.  I was reaching for my tobacco pouch to fill my pipe, when the fellow stated:

"I notice that you were finding me somewhat "curious".  I was wondering if you may like to sample a bit of my pipe tobacco.  It is not a widely available, commercial blend, for it was a blend made by the hands of the tobacconist in the small town I grew up in long, long ago.  For me, it uniquely brings back thoughts of home.  I only indulge in it occasionally, as I cannot acquire any more."

I looked at him again.  His hand was extended towards me and in the palm of his hand was a small, opened leather pouch filled with beautiful brown crumbles.

I was somewhat taken aback.  I did not know this fellow at all.  

"Uh...  I wouldn't want to take some of your tobacco since you like it so, and cannot get it again."

He chuckled ruefully.  

"I can understand your sentiment.  Why would you want to accept this small gift I am offering, when you have never laid eyes upon me before and are suspicious of my motives?."

"I didn't say that...." I stammered.

"Yet, it was readable in your eyes.  That is wholly understandable.  But, how may we alleviate such suspicions?  Perhaps through discussion."

Having been a teacher already, I was used to talking and discussing things, even though in my nature, I am typically rather introverted.  We ended up talking for what was likely at least close to an hour about all manner of things.  He was a little vague about things specifically about himself, as probably was I, but when he gleaned that I was a biology professor, we ended up talking about all sorts of biology concepts and it was rather enjoyable.  He had a great deal of knowledge of a lot of topics, including biology, so talking with him soon became rather enjoyable and I felt more comfortable, and relaxed in our interactions.  

"Well, I am thinking I shall enjoy a bowl of my pipe tobacco...." he stated, as he again reached for his pouch and his pipe, "..... would you potentially now be interested in sampling my blend as well?"  

He had talked rather wistfully and eloquently about the small pipe shop that was in the village where he was during his younger years. Even though I still had no idea where that was nor where he was from, I could tell by his description of the shop, his enthusiasm about the various sights, sounds, and aromas of that shop, that he was very knowledgeable about pipes and his manner of speaking also felt completely sincere and heartfelt.  

"Well, I do have say that now I would feel rather PRIVILEGED to sample your pipe tobacco, but truth-be-told, I do worry that with your remaining supply being so limited, that I would feel guilty in shrinking your limited supply."

He smiled again, "That is not something that I would worry about.  I will always have enough for my needs...." as he slid the pouch a bit closer towards me.

His smile widened.

"Of course, if you want to, I could give you my whole pouch of Prince Albert if you would like it." I said half truthfully (to try to give him something in return) but also half jokingly (as it was a blend, pleasant as it was, that could be had anywhere). 

He chuckled at my statement, recognizing the joking aspect of the statement. "Thank you, but I already also have Prince Albert in my cellar.  It can be pleasant as well."

He looked down at his tobacco pouch and then back towards me.

We kept talking while I filled the bowl of my pipe.  Even before I half filled the bowl, I was very much enamored with all the delightful, varied aromas I could detect, and this was before lighting the bowl itself!  It almost seemed akin to a cornucopia of vegetative fragrances.  I could identify a spicy, almost cinnamon like aspect, oddly a pleasing scent akin to a bell pepper was also present, and also the aroma of a vine ripened tomato.... all in addition to the traditional earthy aroma of a traditional tobacco.... no seemingly artificial casings or flavorings were present..... just a lovely, rather firm, leafy texture.  It felt so natural and so unprocessed, that I could not discern any particular relationships to ANY of the myriad of different pipe tobaccos I had at home.  It seemed so unique and different.  

After a gentle clink of sound from opening the cap of my Zippo, I was just about to spin the wheel against the flint with my thumb....

"May I suggest these instead?" as he showed me in his hand, two small boxes of longer than typical, wooden matches.

I recapped the Zippo, and took the one, pro-offered box..... he kept the other to use for his own pipe.

"The match will not mute the subtle, natural flavors which your lighter could potentially mask." 

I scrapped the head of the match against the side of the box, and it erupted and ignited into flame.  I allowed it a few seconds to settle down and to burn through the sulfur of the head.  Bringing the match up to the bowl, I slowly drew in the flame, and the surface of the tobacco readily and evenly displayed a gentle red ember.

I glanced over at the fellow, and he was in synchrony with me with the lighting of his own pipe.

The flavors were indescribable.... but in the same vein, the flavors were everything imaginable.  It was as if every pipe tobacco I had ever experienced had some special, beautiful aspect of its flavor in this one bowl.  I could sense the smooth heartiness of a burley, but also a sharpness of a Virgina.  I could taste a spiciness of a Perique, and in a most subtle of ways sense a little tiny aspect of the harshness of a rustica. Other non-tobacco related flavors where also subtle throughout as well..... the aforementioned cinnamon hovered within a bit, but also hints of chocolate, hazelnut, vanilla, blueberry, and so many more that melded so uniformly together.

It was a pipe tobacco the like of which I had never experienced in such a fashion, before.  It had every flavor, every smoky texture of every pipe tobacco I have ever tried....... all in one bowlful, with such a subtle, beautiful balance that everything was individually simultaneously tangible and yet synergistically the total was more than the sum of its parts.  

I looked at the fellow, and saw he had his eyes closed while enjoying his pipe.  I could see the pure, unadulterated pleasure spread across his face.  

I could feel that same pleasure spread across my face and gently travel from my head to my feet.  I closed my eyes.... and simply experienced.

Eventually, my pipe extinguished, the leaf having completely converted to a fine, white ash.  I could sense that moment happen.  I opened my eyes, and the fellow was gone. I was on the bench alone, still the only folks about on the street, tending to the windows and sidewalks of their businesses.  

It felt simultaneously enriching and melancholic.  In some ways it felt like I had been allowed to experience all the beauty and art that the human experience has ever created..... all within that brief span of time.  But, in other ways it felt sad to be over.

And, it was truly, a pipe dream.

Addendum:  As I mentioned yesterday, I thought the "green hat" was a clue to me about perhaps how and why I had this beautiful dream.  My wife, a while back, bought for both she and I...  and eventually also our kids...... copies of the book "Theo of Golden", by Allen Levi.  I had never heard of the book before my wife gave me a copy, and I was perhaps a little suspicious that it might be a "Oprah" style "special" book as my wife tends to gravitate towards that way.  But, finally, about a week or so ago, I picked up the book and gave it a try.  I am the first to start the book in my family.  I am roughly into chapter 14 or so at the moment, and have to admit my wife was right..... it is (thus far) a perfect book for me (and I think it will be for her if/when she reads it).  I am truly enjoying the book.  But, the book is centering around an older gentleman who is giving away drawings of people that he meets...... and one feature that stuck out to me as I read the opening chapters was that he work a green, snap brim hat.  So, I think the book was inspired my mind to let me have the wonderfully vivid and joyful dream I had.    

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The "Pipe Dream" Part 1

For most, A "pipe dream" is an unrealistic, unattainable, or wildly fanciful plan or hope that has very little chance of ever coming true. It describes an idea that is impractical and exists only in one's imagination.  I can admit to having this version of a "pipe dream" many times in day-to-day living as I sometimes appear to set unattainable (or perhaps unrealistically attainable is more a more apt way to say it) goals for myself.  

The term, however,  originated in the late 19th century. It was derived from the hallucinatory, dream-like visions experienced by people smoking opium in pipes. Over time, the phrase transitioned from describing literal drug-induced hallucinations.... to being used as a metaphor for any overly ambitious or impossible idea.  And, I relish a good metaphor.... hell, I use them all the time..... in class, in talking with folks, and I seem to use metaphors of all sorts so often, that it will cause disgruntlement in my wife (or at least strong rolling of the eyes at times).  

But, I also have literal pipe dreams...... of pipes and pipe tobaccos.  Most of you know this, and I have regularly experienced them for all the decades I have been on this planet.  I remember having such dreams even BEFORE I first "borrowed" a small pinch of my father's pipe tobacco and one of his forgotten pipes to actually sample said for the first time.  They have been a part of my dreamscape forever. 

But, the other day, I had a MOST wonderful pipe dream, that combined a whole lot of different facets of old times, new times, and was not just a "memory pipe dream" where I relived past pipe events.  That sort of dream (remembering past experiences I have had smoking pipes) has been the primary pipe dream I have had for much of the last few years..... sort of a dream that was utterly beautiful, but was of a MEMORY.  al 

This dream was different, and less common for me of late, where it was a mixture of incongruent times, places, some memories, but also "new" not having occurred from actual events..,, not a memory of something I did experience.   

The dream began with me in a modest sized town, near the town's central square.  Things seemed of the modern day (or at least SOME time in the near present, but perhaps before Covid... vehicles were modern, for instance).  However, I, MYSELF, was NOT actually the "near present" form of myself, but instead was as I was when I was just a young puppy-dog aged professor..... dark brown hair, and calico-hued (browns, reds, blacks and even some blond) beard and mustache.  I had on a floppy brimmed, canvas hat that I always called my "fishing" hat that was a faded, dark blue color.  

The town was robust and had a bunch of shops and stores and was rather "gussied up" as well..... things were tidy, and orderly, yet it had a "small & quiet" feel about it too.  It was EARLY morning.... and not too many folks were out yet, just some of the shop keepers sweeping their sidewalks or washing their windows in preparation for the start of the day.   While I did not know where I actually was, in my mind, I kept thinking "Horton's Bay" which was a place where Ernest Hemingway, his siblings and parents would spend their Summers in Northern Michigan.  I have no understanding of why I was thinking "Horton's Bay" in my mind as I looked about the town, as this town was probably of a size of perhaps 20-25 thousand people, large enough to have a theater, a bigger library, and even a small college.  The actual "Horton's Bay" was a very, VERY tiny podunk "village" with a few hundred folks.... I HAVE visited Horton's Bay, and even acquired a 1/2 sized plaster bust of old Ernie and also a Hemingway t-shirt (which I still have as well) which I acquired from the one store in town during my "Hemingway as a Hobby" days back in graduate school.  The bust of old Ernie sits to this very day in a corner of our living room, near my bookshelf of ~50-60 Hemingway biographies and novels I had collected over the years.  I put a Santa hat on him at Christmas time every year.  

So back to the dream.... I was looking out across town, and wanted to find a place to sit and have a pipe.  The town center had a small fountain, with wrought iron  benches surrounding the perimeter.  The benches seemed a perfect place to sit and have a pipe, so I sat.  

As I was pulling my pipe from my shirt pocket, an older gentleman (perhaps in his early 80s) sat down a few feet from me.  His presence surprised me at first, for I have no idea where he came from.... in the dream, it seemed like he just suddenly appeared.   He was very "tweedily" dressed and his attire was not a whole helluva lot different from my own usual (although in the dream, I was just wearing a button down linen shirt as it was Summer).  This fellow looked an awful lot like an avian embryologist I had taken a class with, long, long ago..... although this fellow was MUCH older.  He was rail thin, but appeared wiry and robust.  His face displayed rather angular facial features.  He sported a rather tidy and crisp beard and mustache, both with sharp, defined, "military-like" edges that was mostly white, but with a smattering of darker grey hair follicles every once in a while.  He sported a sage green, snap brimmed cap... (which in hindsight gives me a bit of a clue about perhaps why I had this dream) and he had a smooth, real wood cane that was highly polished and was walnut brown.

Although I am most assuredly, under NORMAL circumstances..... NOT a "Nosy Nora" type person... I tend to try to NOT "butt in" to other peoples business nor actions...... but, for some reason, I felt compelled to watch this fellow and that is what I did.

[Running out of time... have to do some work.... will have to conclude tomorrow.]

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