A Smell is Worth a Thousand Words
I don't look quite as elegant as my grandfather
It's funny how a smell can bring a memory swarming back.
My grandfather Nelson was ninety one years old when he passed away in September of 2009. An enduring memory that i have of him is of him, sitting in his favorite brown leather recliner in his house in Imperial Beach, California, the most western city in the contiguous United States. After dinner, he would sit and read the newspaper, usually with a running commentary on the state of affairs, smoke from his pearl white pipe and crack open a walnut. Even though I was just a boy, I enjoyed the sweet aroma of pipe tobacco emanating from that pipe. I would sit next to him and he would smile and tell me stories of his exploits Pacific Theatre exploits while pale plumes escaped from his lips.
it's such an enduring memory and sweet reminder of him that, upon his passing, I decided to give up on cigarettes and focus all my tobacco efforts on pipes. I went out and bought a pipe--and have since developed quite a collection of tobacco flavors: Mocha, Whiskey, Vanilla Cavendish, Rum Cured, and Champagne.
A quick tangent: While no tobacco consumption is good for you, if you do desire to smoke, use a pipe. not only do you look much cooler, but you get the same nicotine buzz as a cigarette- and better flavor- without all the gunk build up in your lungs.
But I had been unable to find the flavor that my grandfather smoked- truth be told, I wasn't sure what I was looking for. That is, until a year or so after his passing.
One day, I was standing on my back deck when I smelled a smell I had not smelled in years- and didn't even know I was missing. My roommate was smoking from his corn cob pipe and I smelled my grandfather. The aroma being emitted from my roommates' pipe was the very same aroma my grandfather used to have when he smoked his pipe.
I was immediately taken back to Imperial Beach, California, two decades ago, watching television as my grandpa puffed away on his guilty pleasure, watching him reach into the gigantic wooden bowl of walnuts and, using a silver nutcracker, to crack them open and eat them between puffs from the pipe.
I asked my roommate what he was smoking. He told me it was a blend called Midnight Express.
I found out that the blend was from a tobacco shop in Portland called Rich's Tobacco. I dropped everything, hopped into my car and my way to Rich's, and then hit up the local grocery store and purchased a bag of walnuts. I went home, sat down in my favorite chair, lit the pipe and cracked open a walnut. For a moment, my grandfather was with me again, on that brown leather recliner, reading the paper and smiling.
Thanks for Reading.
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another HUB about my grandfather
- Happy Birthday Grampa
One of the first hubs I ever published. Originally published my grandpas 92nd birthday, July 10th 2010. Most of my followers haven't read it, so I thought I'd repost it.
A poem about tobacco
- Leaves Black
one of life's simple pleasures
© 2010 Justin W Price