Two nights ago, in slightly chilly weather but not enough for a coat, I sat underneath a tree in our back yard smoking a pipe and drinking Scotch on the rocks. The pipe was my gigantic Mr. Brog Lumberjack; the tobacco was mere (but delicious) The Best of the Rest; and the Scotch was a no-big-deal blend. But over the course of my smoking experience I became so enveloped in thoughtfulness and appreciation for living that I was a bit overwhelmed. After smoking the pipe down to nothing I came in to tell my wife how much I loved her and our child, and I went upstairs to write a poem - I just felt such gratitude to be alive. This hobby of ours is a great one. My mother-in-law may never understand, but that's ok. Ha. May all have a nice New Year.
