Tag Archives: Pipes and relaxation

Chillin with a pipe

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This is another piece I wrote. It was born during a stressful time in my life. The pipe is a necessary piece of the solace I find in times like this.

Over the past days I have had multiple reasons to reflect on the necessity of just “chillin”, stopping and not allowing the franticness of others and the problems that they so often seem to put on me get the best of me. I am reminded of the importance of just taking time to pick up my pipe and relax. Too often these days it seems to me, I let others move or manipulate me with their urgency, to get frustrated or anxious, or angry; to take up defence or offense and speak out; to get sucked into the schemes or plans whose ends are somehow assumed to be hidden. It is in those moments that I remember why I am a pipe smoker.

I take out my pouch or tin; quietly and slowly load a bowl. I say slowly because you cannot do it quickly and get it done well. You have to work a nice knot of tobacco into the bowl in such a way as to enable a good burn. Even that process slows the pace and makes you breathe a bit more slowly. I take a deep breath and slowly inhale, letting the magic of the moment, the stuffing of the bowl, the feel or look of the pipe in hand, the feel of tobacco whatever its cut, its unlit smell, the pungency of a good Virginia pouring out of the tin, just take over. My breathing becomes more relaxed and measured, my vision and thoughts more focused as I pack the bowl of the pipe I have picked from my rack.

I don’t understand how, but it is a fact that the issues and troubles come into perspective as I quietly work over them a bit removed from their urgency. I am able by the pipe, to slowly turn them in my mind instead of just reacting in knee jerk fashion. Ahhh, the wonder of the reflective time taken in packing a bowl, the anticipation of the smoke and then finally the smoke itself. From the strike of the first match and the initial flame that passes over the tobacco, from the feel of the first rush of flavour in my mouth and on my tongue to seeing the gentle smoke blow across the porch or room, I can step away for a brief respite from whatever others put on me or whatever I choose to take on and remember that it too will pass. Things really are all right with my world.

When I forget this magic of my pipe, I am quickly and thoughtlessly sucked into the urgency of others complaints and concerns. I cease to be any help at all as their issues rapidly escalate into my own. A long time ago on the streets I learned from an old friend a piece of wisdom that too readily slips away. He said something like this: “I like helping folks with problems, so in the course of our relationship if ever I allow your issues, problems or concerns to become mine, I can no longer help you — because now you don’t have a problem anymore…. it is now mine.”

For me the pipe gives me the freedom to keep remembering the wisdom of my old friend. As I light my bowl I am given the space to keep my distance from issues and not personalize them. When I do this I am given the rare privilege of standing apart from the problem or issue of my life and viewing it as a casual observer for a bit. I get to take time to mull over thoughts with a pipe and bowl. I can be thoughtful and less prone to jump to conclusions and take offence. That is the wonder of the pipe for me. It is a means of separating myself from my life and its constant influences and turbulence. It creates a zone of space where I can turn things over slowly in my head and look at it dispassionately just for a bit… perhaps as it has happened many times in the past, a solution will walk out of the smoke for me. Time for a bowl… cheers

A Pipeful of reflection

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Yesterday I had an appointment with the old Doctor for some problems I am having with blood pressure. I have this inordinate white coat syndrome that sends my blood pressure soaring when I go to see him. So when I woke up and throughout the morning wait for the doc I was reflecting on all of the things I was “sure” he would tell me to give up in light of the impending visit. I don’t know about you, but when I am in those settings I always jump to the worst possible scenario and my mind works overtime on what is “certainly” going to happen. Not the best strategy for high blood pressure folks to be sure, but it is my way. After deleting wine and beer, red meat, adding more exercise, I was certain my pipes would have to go according to the new regimen he was going to give me. That caused me to pause and reflect for moment on my pipes and pipe smoking. I gave it some thought as to whether he would tell me to say good bye to this piece of my life in which I have come to take a lot of delight. As I thought about the possibility of quitting, I asked myself what my pipes and pipe smoking do for me. I mused for awhile and then I wrote this:

My racks of pipes are in the cabinet next to my desk in my study and a few on top of the desk and behind me. I can with a quick glance look at and enjoy them all. From my desk I can swivel my chair and look through my pipes for the one that is going to take the tobacco choice of the moment. It hit me that this for me is the point when the actual pleasure of a smoke begins. It doesn’t wait for the fire to hit the tobacco or the first puff. The entirety of the process is pleasurable and my particular restful time. The tactile experience of handling the pipes, moving through my racks and choosing just the one for the moment is a big part of the pleasure. Once the pipe is chosen I pick up a soft pipe cleaner, another tactile pleasure and run it through the stem and then place the stem between my teeth and blow any dust or fuzz from the bowl. The sounds of the air through the bowl, the slick feel of the stem, the smooth or rough or blast of the briar, all combine for a fine moment of quiet and pleasure. Often before I fill the pipe and put the match or lighter to it I just sit with the bowl in hand and reflect.

Then the tobacco of the moment is cracked open – the jar or the tin – I run the tobacco through my fingers and enjoy the feel of the flake or the ribbon or the cube cut as it drops between my fingers. As the tobacco is picked up there is a sweet aroma that slips into the room around my desk – the scent of fine Virginias, the aroma of a clean but smoked pipe. All of these combine in the moment before I pack the pipe. The tobacco goes into the bowl pinched between the fingers or rubbed out on a paper on the desk. The tobacco springs in the bowl, the feel of just the right pack, the quick flick of the flint on the steel or the match across the striker to get the light, the momentary spark and then the flame as it licks the tobacco and then the first puff of smoke. All these intersect with the just the right place to take my mind off of my troubles or my work and transport to a tranquil zone.

The amazing thing to me is that all of this occurs for me before the smoke begins to calm my soul. Before the bowl begins to warm to the touch as the fire in its belly consumes the tobacco the earnest smoke has begun. The rhythm of the puff and the exhalation of the smoke all build on the previous time to add to the pleasure of the restful thing we call pipe smoking. As the tobacco continues to burn and the smoke is blowing and snaking upward, the room fills with an aroma that surrounds the pipe and me. The aroma is sweet and satisfying. The cloud of smoke that fills the room adds to the mystique of the moment. I close my eyes and enjoy the quiet that this alone time brings to me. I guess at heart I am a solitary, an introvert and I need the retreat and the quiet to rejuvenate me in order to take on the rest of the day’s work.

The tamper and the lighter work together to bring the bowl to its maximum pack and burn. Just a bit of a tamp around the outer edge of the bowl, tilting the tamper just so to leave a crown in the center of the bowl, are part of the mystique of the smoke. Another light, with match or lighter, and the renewed cloud of smoke after the initial light has died down. The fiddling with the bowl to get it just so is part of the ritual for me that disengages my brain from all other concerns and sends me to a quiet spot. The tools of the piper are just as much a part of the ritual of the smoke as the pipe itself. It is no wonder that over the years I have collected an odd assortment of tampers, from the ordinary and utilitarian shape of the pipe nail to some beautiful sculpted tampers by a variety of tamper makers. For me the fussing with the pipe is all part of the process of the enjoyment.

When the smoke comes to an end, the pleasure continues for a bit. The taste of the tobacco is still on the lips and gums. The room note still lingers with memories of the taste in my mouth. The bowl of the pipe smells of it as well. The pipe itself is warm to the touch and worth a few minutes extra in the hand. The ash is tapped into the ash tray, or if I am on the porch into one of my plants. A pipe cleaner plunges into the bowl through the button and down the stem and shank and takes care of any ash or moisture in the airway. Folded in half it works well to swab out the bowl of any remaining ash or bits of tobacco. All of this ritual is still part of the pleasure. Once cleaned and wiped off the pipe is returned to the rack and I sit.

What is it about pipes and pipe smoking that relaxes me? The entirety of the ritual from the choice of pipe through the smoke itself and to the restoration of the pipe to its place on the rack is all part of the restfulness of the pipe to me. From start to finish and everything in between all are part of the pleasure.

Oh and the good news… the doc told me that he does not even consider me a smoker and that the pipe was not a problem for my BP… All my fretting was for nothing… or was it? At least I got to think about why I like my pipes! Now I am off to fire up another bowl, sip a good glass of red wine, and enjoy a good steak!

The Solitary Pipe Smoker

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I know, a lot of pipe smokers love the comradeship of a gathering of pipe smokers who sit together and jaw away time as they chat about their hobby and the solve the crises of the world from the comfort of a wreath of smoke. But me, I need the quiet reflective time of being by myself. The rest of my life is full of people around me all the time making demands either implicitly or explicitly on my time and attention. I come home each evening tired of people and the demands of a day of work. To me at that moment the last thing I need is to sit and talk with anyone… pipe smoker or not. What I long for and seek is a quiet solace that is created by my pipe and a bit of time to disconnect from the day that has past.

I find a corner in the house, on the porch or under a tree in the yard whose only requirement is that it must be quiet – maybe the hum of passing traffic, maybe a dog barking or some other external noise that is non human is present as ambient noise, a white noise. That kind of noise is acceptable and a welcome addition to help quiet the noise in my head. In that quiet space I settle into a comfortable chair from which I can observe the life of the neighbourhood around me. The twittering of birds, the squabbles of the squirrels over the walnuts in my yard are a pleasant change. I take out a trusted and well broken in pipe and handle it carefully. I rub it down and feel the gentle curves and the variety of textures that make up stem and bowl. I sniff the warm memories of bowls that had been smoked in the past and just take time to savour the moment. Life is good. There is no rush to pack the bowl. No frantic need to get to the point. No sense of having to pack the bowl and smoke pressing upon me. I can move at my own pace in my own time with no one defining the time.

I take a deep breath and exhale slowly and just enjoy the pleasure of being for a moment. Far removed by time, space and mental thought from the demands of doing. I take out my pouch or tin of a good tobacco that I know will deliver a good smoke and begin the process. I remove a couple of flakes of sweet smelling Virginia and smell the sweet grassiness of the tobacco. I rub them out to the texture I love or I roll them into a ball in my palms and enjoy the feel of the tobacco as it is readied for packing. This ritual in itself is a moment of solitude that is hard to find in the norm of my life. Once the tobacco is just right I begin to load the bowl of my pipe. I want to make sure it is loaded just right, but I am not anal about it – that would wreck the moment. I take the tobacco and begin to tamp it into the bowl. I feel the springiness beneath my fingers and know from the years of the process that it is just right. I put the pipe in my mouth and feel the draw. While doing that I clean up the remnants of tobacco and roll the pouch or close the tin and set it aside. I sit like that for an immeasurable moment and just taste the tobacco – unlit in my pipe. There is freshness and expectancy in the taste. There is a promise of good flavour that will be released by fire. But I want to just take the time to enjoy the moment before striking the fire.

Then without knowing why, the moment of fire has arrived. I take my Zippo or a match – no reason for the choice, just what happens to be at hand. I circle the bowl with the flame drawing deeply on the pipe as the fire is drawn into the tobacco. I can feel the warmth in my mouth as it begins to catch fire. The tobacco begins to smoulder and the smoke curls out of the top of bowl and around the edges of my mouth. Ah the tastes and the sensations of that moment as the smoke rises from the bowl and I gaze at the world through the haze of a good smoke. I cannot quite explain the sensation of the moment for you – you just have to be there. There is no one talking. There is no demand on the time. There is no pressure to converse or respond to the need of another. There is no pressure from inside or outside to act. It is just the quiet moment of solitary time when my pipe delivers me to that place where I can be alone and unencumbered by anything or anyone. That is what I love about time with my pipe. It is time I cannot get in a group of pipe smokers. It is time I cannot get with another piper next to me. It is that sweet alone time that slows my life down and gives me renewed perspective to enter into the next moments of my life.

All too soon the embers smoulder out and the bowl is finished. The pipe is warm to the touch and the air around me is full of the smell of the smoke. Time begins to once again move forward. I can hear my wife and daughters moving around in the house working on dinner. I can hear their laughter and their bickering that is all a part of my life and I chuckle to myself. It is good! I can now fully enter into that piece of my life and be engaged with them. I have been able to lay aside the encumbrances of my day and become free to re-enter my family and enjoy them. Those private moments, those solitary times give me the space to disconnect from one moment and enter the next more fully. This is not to say I don’t enjoy the energy of a group of pipers together but it is these moments that energize me and keep me smoking my pipes. They have an uncanny ability to calm me and grant me serenity.