My office recently began a return to work, two days a week. While it was exciting to put on pants and actually drive somewhere for once, at lunch I overstuffed my cob, tumbled down the stairs and promptly did my best impersonation of Vesuvius. I came away with a wicked case of tongue bite and a hot wet bowl that reeked so bad I stuffed it into a desk drawer, lest people walk by and think somebody exhumed George Burns.
That was last week. This week I bought a pack of butts specifically for breaks, and I really didn't beat myself up too much about it. They're quick, they're easy, yadda yadda yadda.
But I keep them tucked in my briefcase. They don't DO it for me anymore. They're a 99 cent cheeseburger when you've tasted Wagyu beef. They're a stale cracker when what you want is a hunk of focaccia.
Time, and patience. Tonight I was rewarded. It's raining great guns here in Southeast Michigan tonight, but there was a lovely cool and breezy break in the rain. I nabbed up my jar of Lane 1-Q, made myself SIT down and judiciously sprinkle a bit in. Flick the bowl, let it settle, just a weeee push of the pinkie and then twist in a goodly knob ala Frank Method.
I stood in the wind with a coffee standing by and from first light to dottle it was a cool and lovely and creamy smoke. That slight coconutty room note snatched past my nostrils a few times. Zero relights. The cob was barely warm in my hand and I sipped it down to ashes. Serenity. Whatever this thing IS, I'm beginning to GET it.
Pipe smoking is mindfulness. It is a meditation. I'm still very much a junior at this round table but it's starting to truly dawn on me. The sage advice of many here and the YTPC has helped immensely.
Thank you.
That was last week. This week I bought a pack of butts specifically for breaks, and I really didn't beat myself up too much about it. They're quick, they're easy, yadda yadda yadda.
But I keep them tucked in my briefcase. They don't DO it for me anymore. They're a 99 cent cheeseburger when you've tasted Wagyu beef. They're a stale cracker when what you want is a hunk of focaccia.
Time, and patience. Tonight I was rewarded. It's raining great guns here in Southeast Michigan tonight, but there was a lovely cool and breezy break in the rain. I nabbed up my jar of Lane 1-Q, made myself SIT down and judiciously sprinkle a bit in. Flick the bowl, let it settle, just a weeee push of the pinkie and then twist in a goodly knob ala Frank Method.
I stood in the wind with a coffee standing by and from first light to dottle it was a cool and lovely and creamy smoke. That slight coconutty room note snatched past my nostrils a few times. Zero relights. The cob was barely warm in my hand and I sipped it down to ashes. Serenity. Whatever this thing IS, I'm beginning to GET it.
Pipe smoking is mindfulness. It is a meditation. I'm still very much a junior at this round table but it's starting to truly dawn on me. The sage advice of many here and the YTPC has helped immensely.
Thank you.