Perhaps it's middle age. Or perhaps it's the changes I've made in my life over the past several years. Or perhaps it's a combination of the two. But I have become something of a hedonist. Not a hedonism that requires money or extravagance. Rather, a hedonism that requires a detachment from the world - a detachment from our Western culture's hectic life.
My Sunday morning act of hedonism is relaxing on the deck, sitting in my recliner chair that my wife purchased for me several years back for Father's Day, with my traditional Sunday Smoke: Gaslight in my Butz-Choquin Cocarde bulldog.
I smoke this tobacco only on Sundays. And I smoke this pipe only on Sundays. A repeated chorus each week, an act of pure hedonism.
My Sunday morning act of hedonism is relaxing on the deck, sitting in my recliner chair that my wife purchased for me several years back for Father's Day, with my traditional Sunday Smoke: Gaslight in my Butz-Choquin Cocarde bulldog.
I smoke this tobacco only on Sundays. And I smoke this pipe only on Sundays. A repeated chorus each week, an act of pure hedonism.
