Early Tuesday morning Father Tom put on his clerical collar and his Harris Tweed jacket before walking to the parlour to pick up a pipe and tools for the day. He put a little bent Dublin in his pocket and a pouch of tobacco, tamper, pipe cleaner and his lighter in the other. He had to be at the hospital at 6am because one of his parishioners was due for surgery that morning. It had become his custom to be there with them before surgery and before the anaesthesia so he could encourage and comfort them. He lived fairly close to the hospital so he walked there.

Upon arrival he took the elevator to the 4^th floor and found Mrs. Nathanson’s room. He knocked gently on the door, called out softly that he was there and heard her invite him in. They talked for a brief time and she shared her fears and expectations with him. He finished his prayer just as the orderly came through the door to take her to surgery. He squeezed her hand and said, “See in a little while.” He walked with the cart all the way to the door of the surgical suite and bid her farewell.

Tom walked back to the surgical waiting room and checked with the nurse to find out when the surgery was to be over. He gave her his cell phone number and asked that they call him when the surgery was over and Mrs. Nathanson was back in her room. Since she had no relatives in the city and her son was in Europe and would not arrive in Vancouver until the next day, Father Tom was the contact. He took the elevator down to the cafeteria and ordered a coffee and a quick breakfast. He picked up a newspaper and took it to the table with his breakfast. He scanned the pages quickly and then laid aside the paper as nothing caught his eye. Once breakfast was done he carried his tray to the cart and headed to the main entrance.

Before going outside he packed his pipe with a bit of tobacco he brought with him and lit it before heading outdoors. He put on his cap and began the walk from the hospital to Cambie Street – just a few blocks away. It was far enough for a good pipe. He wanted to catch the train up to his favourite pipe shop and pick up 100 grams of his favourite shop blend and some pipe cleaners. He would have just enough time before the surgery was over to get the tobacco and get back to the hospital.

He arrived at the train terminal after a 10 minute walk and put his pipe in his pocket, bought the ticket and went down to the platform to catch the train. Within a few minutes he was on his way for a short ride to the 41^st Ave. station where a short walk would take him to his favourite pipe shop – RJ Clarkes.

He walked up the stairs, crossed the street and entered the pipe shop. The owner was in the back at the counter and nodded his greetings as he helped another customer. Father Tom, made his way to the jars of house blends and picked out his favourite. He knew it was a McClellands 5100 blend but he bought it from this shop regularly to have an excuse for visiting. He took time to inhale the aromas of several other jars of tobacco – he knew that the day would soon come when the jars would be moved behind the counter and covered to meet the increasingly harsh Vancouver laws regulating the sale of tobacco. He would miss the readily available buffet of smells and textures of the various blends so he always took time to savour the smells.

The other customer left and the shop owner said to Father Tom, “How are you today Father? What can I get for you?

“I am doing well, just stopping by before I go back to the hospital. I’ll take 100 grams of this blend and then two bundles of pipe cleaners. I could also use a bit of lighter fluid for my Old Boy. Thanks Richard.”

Richard poured the contents of the jar onto the old scale on the work table and measured out 100 grams. He took a bag and labelled it with the house name and then lifted the scoop off the scale and slid the contents into the bag. He had done it so often that not a thread of tobacco missed the bag. He sealed the bag and carried it to the cash register and put two bundles of pipe cleaners and a can of lighter fluid on the counter with it. He quickly tallied the total with the dreaded tax and quoted it to Tom. Tom took out his clip and handed Richard the cash and thanked him. He took the tobacco and other purchases and slipped them into his coat pocket – the opposite one he had his pipe in!

“Thanks Richard; I will be back another day for a chat. I have a parishioner at the hospital that should just about be done with her surgery so I need to be heading back. Take care of yourself.” And with that and a farewell from Richard he headed toward the door. He paused outside the door and relit his pipe then made his way back to the train and on to the hospital.

When he got to the hospital his pipe went into his coat pocket again. It would be fine until he walked home later. He took the elevator to the surgical waiting room and found that as he walked through the door his cell phone rang. He looked at the receptionist and they both laughed.

“Mrs. Nathanson is on her way up to her room. They will need about a ½ hour to get her settled in. The surgery went very well. The doctors are very pleased. You can head up there if you would like.”

“Thanks”, said Father Tom. He then went back to the elevators and took it to the fourth floor. Once he got there he remembered that there was an outdoor patio that he could wait on and enjoy a bit of sunshine. He found it and settled into a comfortable chair near the wall overlooking the downtown. He looked around and saw ash trays on the tables so he took out his pipe and relit it. He sat back and looked around the deck. Off to his left he noticed another pipe smoker sitting at a table. He tipped his pipe to the other man and continued to contentedly sit with his pipe. He was lost in thought momentarily and failed to hear the footsteps behind him. He gave a start as the voice behind him said, “I see you found my hiding place. Great place for a pipe eh?”

The man then sat down across from him at the table and Tom noticed then that he was wearing scrubs. They introduced themselves to each other and contentedly sat smoking their pipes.

“I look forward to my post surgery smoke here on the fourth floor patio. I am hoping the hospital continues to forget that it is here and doesn’t make it a non-smoking patio as well. I am not sure where I would go then. It is great to be able to sit here away from the door and other people and decompress after a surgery. What brings you here Father?” said the surgeon.

“Hmmm. It is a great place. I did not know it was here and would not have guessed but for the ashtrays. I have a parishioner here who underwent surgery this morning. She is due back to her room very soon so I thought I would step out for some fresh air while waiting for her. When I found I could have a pipe while I waited it was a bonus.”

With that exchange of words Father Tom’s pipe was finished. He looked through the door and could see that Mrs. Nathanson had not come back to her room yet. So he took the bag of tobacco from his pocket and after running a pipe cleaner through his pipe, packed a bowl of the new tobacco. He laid the bag on the table between the doctor and him. He took out his lighter and fired it up, tamped and relit and settled back for a bowl.

The doctor reached across the table and took the bag and opened it and put it to his nose. “That smells great. What is it? Smells like Virginia and looks like it as well.”

Tom answered, “McClelland’s Red cake, 5100. It is my go to smoke. Help yourself to a bowl if you want to.”

The doctor tapped out his dottle in the ashtray and ran a cleaner through as well. He loaded a bowl of the 5100 and lit it. He sipped contentedly at the smoke and it was obvious he was enjoying it. He commented, “Where did you pick this up? It is just the right moisture level for me. I really like it. I generally have been smoking some stuff I pick up downtown that is a Virginia Burley blend and it is no where near as good as this.”

“Ah… RJ Clarke’s on Cambie and 41^st. They carry it all the time and you can find it under the name on the label. Great smoke.”

With little more conversation they settled into the quiet comradery of the pipe. The cadence they shared almost matched. The wreath of smoke around them both showed the contented state of the two pipers. After a short time Tom saw the gurney with Mrs. Nathanson being wheeled into her room. He relaxed knowing that he would finish the bowl before his visit.

The surgeon stood and put his pipe in his pocket and thanked Tom for the tobacco. He said, “I hope to meet you again here on the roof! Have a good visit with Mrs. Nathanson. Her surgery went exceptionally well and she should recover with no complications at all. I have to head back to work now as I have appointments to see to at the office. Take care.” And with that he left the patio.

Tom was speechless for a moment as he realized that he had been sitting with the surgeon who had done his parishioners’ surgery. He had to laugh as he thought about the fact that the surgeon was a pipe smoker. Who would have guessed that they would connect on the patio and share a smoke?

June 2, 2011

The dream of an uninterrupted evening at home came to an abrupt end with a knock on the front door of the manse. Father Tom laid his book down and took a pull on his pipe. He rose from the chair, grumbling to himself as he made his way from the parlour to the front hallway. He moved aside the curtain and peered out the window next to the door so that he could see who it was that was disturbing his quiet evening with his pipe and book. He did not know why it happened, but it seemed like every time he planned an evening like this it somehow never happened as planned. Every single time, he would settle into his routine – pick a pipe, load it with a favourite tobacco, put his feet up and settle in for quiet evening smoke in front of the fireplace – somebody or something would intrude upon his plan. As he looked out the window there was a man’s face was squashed up against the glass staring back at him – sticking out his tongue and bugging out his eyes. Tom jumped back in surprise before it dawned on him who it was. A loud laugh burst out on both sides of the door simultaneously.

He barely had unlatched the door before it was pushed open by his guest. The big man, who lunged in the door, wrapped him in a bear hug that lifted his feet off the ground. Tom let out an “oomph” as he was crushed against the fellow’s chest. Once his feet landed back on the ground he tried to catch his breath. The man greeted him with a boisterous, “Hey Tom, you old reprobate, how are you doing? Did I interrupt your evening pipe? I sure hope so, what kind of friend would I be if I did not mess with your schedules.”

Tom laughed and responded, “I am doing better than I deserve, Ed. How long has it been? Man I cannot remember the last time your “largeness” filled my hallway. You did indeed interrupt me and it kind of ticked me off that somebody would have the nerve to intrude upon my solitude. But now that I know who it is I have to say it is good to see you. Come on in and sit with me next to the fire. You can pack a pipe with me and enjoy a good smoke. I think I have some aged bourbon in the sideboard so we can smoke, sip and make a good evening of it.”

That was all the encouragement that Ed needed. He shed his coat and dropped it on the chair in the front hallway. He flipped his hat on top of it. Out came his pipe from his jacket pocket and he followed Tom into the parlour. After he had settled into the chair on the other side of the table from Tom, he picked up a tin of tobacco from the table and filled his pipe. He picked up Tom’s lighter and fired it up. All of this happened in a matter of seconds and was done in silence. Ed sucked on the pipe to get the tobacco burning well and returned to Tom’s earlier question.

“Hmmm, I think if I remember correctly Tom, the last time I was here was about 2 years ago. I have covered a lot of ground since then. The diocese sent me to Costa Rica for quite awhile. They have a few congregations there and a seminary. I was the rector of a small Anglican congregation and taught in the seminary until a week ago. I received a letter last Monday from Vancouver calling me home! I have no idea what they have in store for me next but I am here to find out. Besides, I could not pass up the opportunity of a visit with you.” He puffed his pipe for a few minutes, enjoying the aged tobacco that Tom had left on the table.

His eyes were closed as he contentedly puffed and said, “You still love that aged tobac eh Tom? You have a lot of it stored away somewhere? I always wondered when you would run out but it seems you have a good stock of it. I always love that about my visits here. I know I will have some good conversation and some good tobacco. Tell me, what have you been up to?”

Tom drew on his pipe and exhaled a wreath of smoke. He spoke around the bit in his mouth. “I am writing a book Ed. I am using all my spare time to draft the stories that will go into the book. I am trying to combine tales of my ministry over the years with my love of all things pipe. It will be reminiscences combined with my favourite pastime – the pipe. I have written twelve stories so far and have the same number sketched out for writing. Each story covers an aspect of my life blended with a good dose of my pipe smoking ramblings. I have no illusion that it will ever be a best seller, but at least it will be something I can leave behind for those who care.”

When had finished talking he stood and went to the sideboard to pour a couple of tumblers of bourbon. He wanted a moment to compose himself before going back to continue the conversation with Ed. He did not add water or ice, just the straight elixir for them to savour and enjoy. He carried the tumblers back to the chairs and handed one to Ed. He eased into his chair and took a sip of the potion. It went well with the Virginia he was smoking. He closed his eyes and the thought ran through his mind – “Can’t get much better than this; sitting with an old friend, a tumbler of bourbon and a good pipe in front of the fire on a rainy evening.”

He did not realize that he had spoken these thoughts audibly until Ed responded with “Yep you are right about that!”

“I am curious to hear more about your writing Tom. I really like the idea. You have always been a wordsmith so I look forward to reading what you have written. In fact, I would not mind reading them while I am in town – you know I am here for the rest of the week and it would interrupt the tedium of the meetings with the bishop. I have already booked a hotel in town near the offices so I can make the meetings easily, but I have most of the evenings free. It would give me lots of time to read through the stories and get a feel for what you are doing with them. What do you think? I would really love to have a look at them.”

Tom replied, “Well… are you sure? They’re not finished yet and I don’t know if they are any good at all. Hmmm… I guess I don’t see why not. I’ll get them now; otherwise I will probably forget to give them to you before you leave.”

Tom went to his study and stopped by his desk. He tamped his pipe and relit it with a lighter on his desk. He paused for a little bit to think about what he was doing. It was the first time anyone would read these stories and he had the cold feet of any writer who is putting his words into the hands of another reader. He put aside all the “what if’s” and picked up a copy of the manuscript of what he had written so far. He took a deep draw on his pipe before leaving the study and decided that he had no real reticence in having Ed read them. He was a good friend and had always been a competent editor. With that resolve he carried his book back out to the parlour and handed it to Ed.

“Here you go. Have a look at them and let me know what you think. I want you to be honest. If they are not any good just tell me, you don’t have to worry too much about hurting my feelings. Better you than someone else who I don’t know. Mark any edits or things you think need to be changed right on the manuscript for me. The only thing I ask is that you don’t use a red pen as the memories of school grading are still too painful.” The last words were said with a wink.

Ed reached out and took the book in his hands. He thumbed through the pages and gave the titles of the pieces a cursory glance. He was quiet as he read the preface and some of the first story. He slowly puffed his pipe and let out an occasional hmmm. He then set the manuscript down on his lap and turned in earnest to his pipe. He picked up the tamper and gently tamped the pipe. He then puffed a bit, picked up the book again and returned to his quiet.

The evening continued like that for a long time in front of the fireplace there in Tom’s parlour. Ed and Tom sat sipping their bourbon, puffing their pipes and enjoying the mutual pleasure that a pipe brings. The quietude they enjoyed was the kind that only happens when two friends are comfortable with each other and with silence.

As the bourbon was sipped away and the pipes went out Tom walked Ed to the front hallway. He put on his hat and coat. He looked Tom in the eye and nodded his head. They knew they would share another evening soon.

I think, fellow pipers, that if we could have entered for a moment into the mind of either man, we would have heard each say, “Now this was a perfect evening; it couldn’t get any better at all.”

02/01/12