Sunset Sonata, and why I smoke a pipe

[TheMacDonald]

A week in the punishing open air sauna formally known as New England, coupled with a consistent grinding of the my patience by Life’s “pleasant little surprises,” had taken such a toll that I was in mortal peril of loosing my gentlemanly demeanor. I was left with no other recourse than to pull out my larger gourd calabash, a tin fresh of GL Pease’s Abington (thank for continuing to make it) and pour a measure of Scotch. While the glass sweated beside me sweating beside it, I spread the wide threads of the blend and dropped them into the calabash bowl. After briefly loosing myself in the Haiku of packing the a bowl that is very wide at the top and a narrowing conical shape below, I broke the surface tension of the scotch. The first sip, a sunset that has been bottled for me alone to enjoy. The first light, the earthy understanding that the first steps of a long journey are behind. The stains of stress and tribulations faded into the evening ether. The clouds crowded the sky outside. The wisps of piquant pleasure curled and unfurled at their own leisure as I did at my own.

My mind meandered through the place where and when I was too young to appreciate what I had, but was smart enough to pack for the times when I am able to appreciate it. Those memories have been illuminated and shined over time so I can be better witness IT through the blurry lens of nostalgia.

It is fleeting moments like this pipe that cause me to understand what Brother Beethoven meant when he wrote the “Moonlight Sonata,” and what my father and grandfather meant when they said simply, "enjoy life."