I'm supposed to rearrange the garage, re-stack the attic, clean closets before each Fall semester starts, because, well... I tend to forget as the school year goes on, and I end up knee-deep in sophomores and juniors. However, it was more urgent this year, as a closet that I'd given a cursory glance at over the years, before calling it "good," came into play due to a large footwear acquisition by Mrs. Specter. So, I was encouraged to "sort through" (throw out) anything that hadn't been touched in, oh, say, five years or so.
Since it's hotter than blazes outside, I figured a few hours spent inside a cool closet might be pretty welcome. After chasing the dogs and cats away, I managed to make some room, then came across a fairly good-sized, dark and mysterious Rubber Maid tote in the back of the closet. It looked vaguely familiar, but so do shirts I haven't worn in years. Deciding that it would be better to honestly say I'd checked everything, rather than let it stay out of sight, I opened it up, expecting to find a great haul for Goodwill.
Nooo... it wasn't clothing, or cat toys, or anything immediately disposable. Inside, there were 55 tins of various Lakeland blends I'd stashed and forgotten after a long-blocked bout of TAD five years ago (a little Irish PAD, too, I found two unsmoked Pete Racing Greens, too). Seriously, everything from Squadron Leader and FVF, to Kendall Cream Flake, Canon Plug to Perfection, Grousemoor to Skiff. At least two of every Samuel Gawith I could grab, I guess. I won't even start on the G&H I found in there, except I did find where I stashed the evil DBE. With luck, I didn't unleash it's curse.
Now, I was asked "What are you going to do with all that tobacco? Can it go to Goodwill?" I assured Mrs. Specter that Goodwill did not accept tobacco donations, and that I would be forced to smoke it all. She did say that I wouldn't be able to get through all of that, plus what I have in my visible cellar, until well after I was dead. Well, the pharaohs were buried with their treasures, so I guess I know what's being buried with me.
Moral of the story: Always wait five years before going through your closets. You'll end up with well-aged, hard to find tobaccos.
Since it's hotter than blazes outside, I figured a few hours spent inside a cool closet might be pretty welcome. After chasing the dogs and cats away, I managed to make some room, then came across a fairly good-sized, dark and mysterious Rubber Maid tote in the back of the closet. It looked vaguely familiar, but so do shirts I haven't worn in years. Deciding that it would be better to honestly say I'd checked everything, rather than let it stay out of sight, I opened it up, expecting to find a great haul for Goodwill.
Nooo... it wasn't clothing, or cat toys, or anything immediately disposable. Inside, there were 55 tins of various Lakeland blends I'd stashed and forgotten after a long-blocked bout of TAD five years ago (a little Irish PAD, too, I found two unsmoked Pete Racing Greens, too). Seriously, everything from Squadron Leader and FVF, to Kendall Cream Flake, Canon Plug to Perfection, Grousemoor to Skiff. At least two of every Samuel Gawith I could grab, I guess. I won't even start on the G&H I found in there, except I did find where I stashed the evil DBE. With luck, I didn't unleash it's curse.
Now, I was asked "What are you going to do with all that tobacco? Can it go to Goodwill?" I assured Mrs. Specter that Goodwill did not accept tobacco donations, and that I would be forced to smoke it all. She did say that I wouldn't be able to get through all of that, plus what I have in my visible cellar, until well after I was dead. Well, the pharaohs were buried with their treasures, so I guess I know what's being buried with me.
Moral of the story: Always wait five years before going through your closets. You'll end up with well-aged, hard to find tobaccos.
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