THE CURMUDGEON'S FRIEND
Or, for that matter, the things I never did in the first place, like dance the night away at a South of Market club while getting blotto on energy drinks and flavoured vodka.
Yesterday evening I made another batch of my own pipe tobacco blend. This is the fifth variant of the recipe I started working on over a year ago, and the fourth time I've blended a batch since finalizing it.
It smells like one of those old-fashioned honest clean products that people used to smoke, before one section of the pipe smoking world went aromatic crazy, and the rest lost their minds on ever more Byzantine mixes and mine-is-better-than-yours snobbery.
It didn't have a name for a long time.
I think I'll now call it "Sorrow's End", because it makes me happy.
Not as much as sex, or a nice bowl of chocolate pudding, oh heavens yes, but nevertheless, I am quite happy with it. Being on the smoking end, it is hard for me to know the room note, but whenever I've got a good whiff it reminds me of afternoon sunlight, dustmotes dancing, open windows and gently billowing curtains, black and white photographs, and how pencils, ink, and good drawing paper, feel in the hands.
Uncomplicated, and unassuming, but very enjoyable.
It also makes me think of Teddy Bears.
Resolutely independent Teddy Bears.
With stubborn facial expressions.
It goes well with tea.
Virginia, virginia, virginia, air-cured, Turkish.
Touches of Kentucky and Perique.
Yeah, okay, that's probably a little peculiar, and you probably did not need to know that. But all rational people should have stuffed animals that they value in their lives. And the sooner you admit that to yourself, the better you will be.
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.