While not conducive to the healthiest of lifestyles, the lowly cigar has become the last refuge of a population entirely comfortable with politically incorrect acts. Stereotypes die hard (and usually of cancer) but as I took on the art of the cigar it became clear that this was indeed an outdoor pursuit.
When my favorite Indian casino banned cigars and pipes, while allowing cigarettes, I was appalled. Retreating to the benches outside the casino I have since met several fellow outdoorsmen, nodding in silent assent to the cold injustice of that peculiar smoking bias. Occasionally on a warm winter day, out of the wind, sitting in the sun, I silently thank those short-sighted and provincial powers for allowing me those moments. On the home front I still get the Look and the disapproving sniff that wives perfect. “Yes dear, I will quit, soon.”
It all brings Kipling to mind, from his serious ode “The Betrothed”:
Thought in the early morning, solace in time of woes,
Peace in the hush of twilight, balm ere my eyelids close….
A million surplus Maggies are willing to bear the yoke;
And a woman is only a woman, but a good Cigar is a smoke.
Photo by J. Runestone
