Why I Smoke a Pipe

This is my very first blog. In fact I have never even read a blog. They have never interested me, probably because everyone has an opinion and I really don't have the time (nor do I care) to read everyone's thoughts on life, liberty, and beer nuts. That is unit I came to the conclusion that what I say matters and that everyone on the web will listen with eager ears and mind to every word I type. So, since I have the whole world anticipating the words of wisdom I am about to impart, let me begin.

I smoke a pipe because I like it. I am not a pipe expert and, more than likely, I'm probably doing it all wrong. (where are you supposed to put the tobacco in this thing?!) When I was a child, my dad smoked a pipe. He would sit out on the back deck in the evening and fill the night air with the aroma of cherry tobacco. He also used to smoke cigarettes and it was funny how at that young age I could not stand the smell of cigarettes, but would anticipate every waft of cherry tobacco.

I smoke a pipe because it is relaxing. There is nothing like the feel of fresh, loose tobacco pinched between your fingers. Leaving your finger tips with it's intoxicating scent. Or feeling the warmth of the bowl nestled in your palm on a brisk autumn day.

I smoke a pipe because of the rich heritage that is associated with pipe smokers from of old. Those of us who are avid pipe smokers know all to well the names of C.S. Lewis, J.R.R. Tolkien, Alexander Graham Bell, Mark Twain, Albert Einstein, General George S. Patton, General MacArthur and his corn cob pipe. And who could forget Popeye?

I smoke a pipe because it takes me back to a more noble time. A time before fastfood. A time before TV. A time before blogs. It takes me back to a time when you walked to the store. When people would actually read books. When you would sit in your yard and listen to the day coming to an end and the smoke from ones pipe would melt into the dusk.

I smoke a pipe because it reminds me of my great-grandfather whom I have never met. The only picture I have ever seen of him (picture above) is him sitting in his rocking chair, surrounded by his family, with his eyes closed and pipe in hand. The perfect picture of pipe contentment.

I smoke a pipe because it just pisses off all the wackos trying to eliminate smoking.

I smoke a pipe because because I can. (Or, in reality, because my wife lets me.)