On The Topic of the Virtues of Smoking a Pipe

Today was, essentially, a wash. One of my best friends in the world was having his bachelor party, and I would have loved to go... except I had to work. Further, I couldn't take the day off because I need to take next Saturday off to attend his wedding. The plan then was that they would take off for the day to Glenwood to swim, as that seems to be the sort of thing one plans their day around when attending a hot springs. Later that evening when they got back, we would catch up at Leela's or Paris downtown, share a couple of pints and maybe a pipe or two.

Unfortunately, and I can't blame this on any of them (though there's an irrational part of me that would like to), they encountered automotive problems, and what should have been a three hour drive turned into a 4 and a half hour drive, and add on blizzard conditions. So, that's a no go for pints and pipes: they had to cancel. Bummer. So, I got all bummed out and depressed and trekked home.

It's 10 now, and I'm trying to think of some way to salvage my Saturday night, but nothing's coming to mind. Earlier in the day, my pal Arthur had made an offer to hang out, but I had to turn that down because I did not foresee my previous plans being canceled.

So, you know what I did? I sat outside, in the rain, and had a pipe, and what a glorious pipe it was.

I have what's called a "sport pipe." It's mostly just an apprentice made pipe with a shallow bowl that's supposed to last no longer than 15 minutes, but through some forces that are largely mysterious to me, this pipe lasted for 30. Truly a Hanukkah miracle, though not on par with a day's oil lasting eight.

At any rate, I sat outside, listening to the rain, the trains, puffing, and thinking. I thought about my friend David's birthday I missed and made the determination to buy for him his very first pipe and tobacco. He deserves it.

I thought about the Daily Dime and how I'd missed two days this week and really didn't want to miss a third, but didn't know what I was going to write about.

I thought about the day and what a bummer it was overall.

I thought about pipes, and what a curious tradition it is, but what a powerful one. I don't smoke mine too often, perhaps once a week, and that's usually in the company of others. I might smoke it by myself once every 5 or 6 weeks, and it's usually only at times, like tonight, where I feel an irrational depression, and I really want to pull out of it. And it's a panacea. It works, and I'm not sure which part of this causes the even feeling or the mellowing. I don't know if it's perhaps the scent, or the series of long breaths (which are smoke free, every one of them) i must take to stoke the pipe and keep it stoked, the fact that I'm forced to stop and be slow, to take time and think, or if it's something beyond that. Not to attribute mystical attributes to an object, but it's been my experience that it has a power to mold and steer conversation in a way that other smokes do not.

At any rate, I smoked my magic pipe (insert pot joke here. HA HA HA! YOU SO FUNNY!), and felt contented and happy. I came inside, sat down, and whipped out a true to real life story.

Let us seal these meetings
With the raising of a pint,
And the stoking of a pipe.