Ah, the canine days of summer time. Just consider your poor household canine who should endure the warmth and humidity in a fur coat.
The Pundit’s stunning Golden Retriever simply plops down on the ground exhausted and sleeps. Lots.
And talking of warmth and humidity, a frightful thought on the worldwide entrance, it’s time to consider good summer time tobaccos.
Nothing too heavy, only a gentle little faucet on the shoulder, so to talk.
Maybe a Virginia-burley mix with a contact of Perique. I just like the ribbon cuts for summertime smoking when the “livin’ is simple and the fish are jumpin’ and the cotton is excessive,” with due to George Gershwin’s Porgy and Bess opera.
And, sure, again within the day, Pundit was fairly the fly-tying, pipe-smoking, chest-wading, trout-hunting, loopy rod-toting, fly-fisherman.
Corn cob pipes had been for smoking when fats, high-flying trout had been jumpin.’ Never a kind of fantastically designed and lovingly hand-crafted items of outdated wooden briar.
No sir. No dangers are taken when excited and shouting for pleasure with a big trout on the opposite finish of the fly line.
Only to notice within the splashy chaos the magnificent briar leaped from mouth to the fast-moving stream and sped off downstream.
But now again to canine days and pipe tobacco. Virginia-burley flakes are additionally a fav within the blistering days of summer time.
And let’s not bypass our gentle English blends. Or the noticeably gentle aromatics. Nothing drenched in dressing. A wee dram of topping will do.
A number of of the heavier Virginia-Burley blends, say from Cornell & Diehl, require affected person puffing. Nothing rolling down the tracks at full steam kind of factor. Slow and straightforward with among the heavier VaBurs.
Especially if you’re a nicotine wimp just like the Pundit. A average nic hit is okay. But I’ve sometimes gone thus far over the darkish nic abyss with robust tobaccos loaded with nicotine in order to expertise the onset of that almost all disconcerting sensation of falling, spiraling into the darkish unknown, with chilly sweats, hazy considering, and hallucinations.
“Quoth the Raven ‘Nevermore.’
Poe’s “The Raven!” would then be the exquisitely apt verbal utterance we squeak out involuntarily when struggling the turbid depths of that terrible inexperienced gills feeling.
Okay, gentle up the Virginias with maybe a bit of contact of perique and a dab of burley. Slow and straightforward on puffing, like sizzling evenings within the South.
This subsequent thought from the Pundit could be an excessive amount of of an existential query, however right here goes.
Is it doable to personal too many pipes? Have you efficiently reached the top of pipe amassing and stuffing the cellar with extra tobacco than you’ll ever devour?
And do you then discover this quiet realization shortly subsumed by a sudden and viral case of PAD, compelling one so as to add much more to the seemingly ever-expanding herd?
Which then sends PAD sub-variants of TAD into whirls of ignition. Thus including extra pipes and tobacco to a sagging pipe shelf and a bloated tobacco cellar.
How does one curtail the lifelong pleasure of amassing stunning handmade pipes and artfully created tobacco blends?
Cull and promote a lot of the overgrown assortment, did I hear somebody say!
Nay, nay, replies Pundit. This is simply not going to occur on Pundit’s watch.
So, what to do?
That’s an affordable query. With perplexing issues that come up in each life, I fill a briar bowl with an aged mix of Virginia and puff away till a light-weight goes on someplace inside the deep folds of the thoughts.
No lights but, however I’m engaged on it. Maybe a museum! Mayhaps my daughters will determine to maintain them as a substitute of tossing them (oh, the horror, the horror!).
All strategies towards a doable resolution to this nagging drawback will likely be vastly appreciated.
No want to say gross sales speak. It gained’t compute.
And now for a notable main cigar smoker and pipe persona from the previous—Sir Alfred Joseph Hitchcock, Knight Commander of the Most Excellent Order of the British Empire.
And commander of the “Birds” and different scary motion pictures akin to “Psycho,” each of which shouldn’t be considered alone at the hours of darkness.
Sir Alfred was born in Leytonstone, England, close to London, on Aug. 13, 1899, and died in Los Angeles, Calif., on April 29, 1980.
His legendary movies collected 46 Academy Award nominations, together with six wins, though he by no means achieved the award for Best Director regardless of 5 nominations.
But he did earn two stars on the Hollywood Walk of Fame!
He was as soon as known as a “younger man with a mastermind.”
And Sir Alfred was certainly the grasp of melodrama, suspense, and thrillers. Just the reminiscence of “Psycho” provides Pundit the heebie-jeebies in any case these years.
A quote or two from the grasp of suspense:
There isn’t any terror within the bang, solely within the anticipation of it
A glimpse into the world proves that horror is nothing apart from actuality.
And sure, girls and boys, Sir Alfred did certainly smoke pipes, regardless of his fearsome movie noir.
No much less authority than guru tobacco reviewer Jiminks says the wizard of the thriller smoked Dunhill pipe blends.
Amen to that.
And yet one more notable consummate pipe smoker, former President Gerald R. Ford, who served our nice nation from August 1974 to January 1977.
The thirty eighth President stepped up his vice presidential duties and guided the nation by way of its “lengthy nightmare,” after Watergate took down his predecessor, President Richard M. Nixon.
Again, Jiminks, says Ford reportedly smoked Field & Stream, Walnut, and in addition famous in a e-book publication he additionally puffed Edgeworth Ready Rubbed.
The Pundit leaves you with one in every of his gems of thought: Pipe people who smoke are the thoughts staff of the world, an oft-repeated pipe proverb by the Pundit.
We are an eclectic group that enjoys one another’s firm and dialog. Those qualities appear to be in shortage at the moment.
We want extra pipe people who smoke, Quoth the Pundit.