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!