New Directions

(This post was written while smoking my Peterson Aran 999 filled with Peterson's Irish Whiskey)



Well, I hope you are enjoying the new direction in which I'm taking this blog.  When I started out my only intention was to chronicle my new obsession with all things pipe related.  The problem was that I found the exercise very limiting.  If I didn't have a new pipe or wasn't trying out a new tobacco blend, I was kind of at a loss for something to say.  So I branched out.

Beginning this week I'm going to start blogging not only about pipes but about things I think about while smoking that aromatic gift to mankind.  I think it's a good pairing.  After all, as the ad used to say..........

The God Who Questions

 (This post was written while smoking my Peterson Aran 999 filled with Peterson's Irish Whiskey)




Why is that at our most difficult times, when we have the most questions of God, He does not answer us?

Like many things with God, I believe the solution lies in relationship.  We too often get our relationship with God wrong.  He is not the Object of our quest but rather He is the Subject.  We are not outside of God examining Him.  He is examining us.  He is testing us.  He is determining our metal, trying our imperfections, setting us in right relationship to him.

Peter Kreeft in his excellent book on the Wisdom literature of the Bible, "Three Philosophies of Life", says that the answer as to why God does not directly answer Job's questions of him is that it is not about who Job is but rather who God is.

Certainly the One who is from all eternity has the answers we want.  Certainly He could dispel all our doubts and anxiety with but a word.  But more often than not when we cry out our questions we are met with a nagging silence.  It's nagging because somehow, somewhere, deep down inside of us, we wonder if maybe we have asked the wrong question or even are not entitled to ask the question in the first place.

"Because of what God is, he cannot show up in answer to Job's questions, in function of Job's needs.  God will not answer Job because God is not the Answer Man.  He is not the Answerer, the Responder.  He is the Initiator, the Questioner."

How often does Jesus answer the questions of the Pharisees or his Disciples with not an answer but a question?  "Should we stone this woman?"  "Let him who is without sin cast the first stone."  Our questions of God are typically of the kind that ask what kind of God He is.  Is He truly all powerful, is He truly all good, etc.?  What God often responds is, "Who are you?"

Who am I?  Am I someone who desires God above all else?  Even above the answer to my question?  Do I long to see God's face or am I simply satisfied with His back?  Will I allow Him to question me and lay bare my soul so that I may be made whole?  When God shows up and responds to Job, not with answers but with questions, Job answers

"Before, I knew you only by hearsay but now, having seen you with my own eyes, I retract what I have said, and repent in dust and ashes." Job 42:5-6

 Job has his answer, finally.  God is. And that is enough.

RIP Lou Reed

This post was written while smoking my Stanwell Freehand Zebrano filled with Esoterica's Margatte.







RIP.  Lou hated to see that sentiment.

"It always bothers me to see people writing 'RIP' when a person dies. It just feels so insincere and like a cop-out. To me, 'RIP' is the microwave dinner of posthumous honours." - Lou Reed

However, I sincerely mean it.  Rest in peace.  For a guy who fought so many demons during his life, peace was probably a great commodity and in short supply.  So, Rest in Peace, Lou.  And may God have mercy on your soul.

I started thinking today about how much my life has been enriched by truly broken people.  Jack Kerouac, Lou Reed, Dylan Thomas, Charlie "Bird" Parker, etc.  Why?  Why did I look to these lost souls instead of one of the great Saints when I needed a reality check?  What did I think they could tell me about life, about truth, about holiness?  Was I simply fascinated by their dissolute lives and getting a kick out of "slumming it"?

Then, with a lightning flash of insight, I understood what it was.  Yes, each of these men knew the tragic, sullen, dirty gutters of life.  But in each junkie, drunk and whore that they described (and many times were) they saw beauty and looked for redemption.  There were moments in which they looked out from under the blanket of the crazy life they led and saw something holy and were completely enthralled.  Jack Kerouac's alter ego, Sal Paradise witnessed it following a late night conversation with Dean Moriarty.

"I looked at him; my eyes were watering with embarrassment and tears.  Still he stared at me.  Now his eyes were blank and looking through me.  It was probably the pivotal point of our friendship when he realized I had actually spent some hours thinking about him and his troubles, and he was trying to place that in his tremendously involved and tormented mental categories.  Something clicked in both of us.  In me it was suddenly concern for a man who was years young than I, five years, and whose fate was wound with mine across the passage of the recent years;  in him it was a matter that I can ascertain only from what he did afterward.  He became extremely joyful and said everything was settled."

 Dean Moriarty.  Alcoholic, drug fiend, sex addict, criminal, and probably certifiably insane.  And yet Sal knows that this man, with all his faults is one whom he just can't let go "gentle into that good night".  Their fates are tied together and in him, Sal sees something beautiful and redeemable.  He "shambles along" after Dean because he want to grasp a glimpse into the beatness of the world and see there a bit of holiness.  But he also concerns himself with Dean's future.  How will he find a safe place for his madness?  Will he find a way to reign it in so that it doesn't destroy this wonderful soul.

Lou Reed was another who looked at the world without glossing over it's warts.  I believe that in between the warts he was looking for something that could be bought back from Hell's treasury.  When I first discovered the Velvet Underground and their front man, I immediately made a connection.  I knew the people who he sung about.  These were my bohemian actor friends; this was a world I understood.  And yet, he was seeing a side of them that I only briefly saw.  There was "Phil, who was given to pills and small racing cars", and "Chuck in his Genghis Khan suit and his wizard's hat".  Each one had a rhythm of speech and concerns of the day but eventually everyone got back to speaking of the rain.  The rain.  The one inevitable thing that weighed on the mind of each of my friends.  For each one of them felt eternity and loneliness raining down on them and wanted to make sense of it.

In my more introspective times, I think that may have been why God called me to be a Priest.  Not to sit in judgment of their sins.  That is God's job and he will do it with more mercy than I ever could.  But rather to see each one of these broken, questioning people that inhabit God's green earth and see beauty and redemption there.  To point them in the direction of the One who brings loneliness to an abrupt end  and will mend the open wounds that we all have.  To realize that their fate is wound with mine across the passage of recent years.  John 3:17 says, "For God did not send His Son into the world to condemn the world, but that the world though Him might be saved."  I will always claim this verse for my friends Lou, Jack, Bird, Dylan and all the others that I know personally.  May God forever make me a minister of this promise.

Futility

This post was composed while smoking 7 Seas Royal in my Peterson 05 Killarney.


Wow!  I didn't realize that 5 months had passed since my last post.  Oh well, Real Life Gets In The Way (trademark pending).  Anyway, I wanted to update you all on my growing love obsession with this fine hobby of ours.  My pipe stable has grown by four since I last posted.  Now in the rotation are a fine Meerschaum (pirate figure), a DeRohan bent billiard with a Maltese Cross carved on it's side, a Peterson Prince in the Aran range, and this fine Peterson 05 Killarney that I'm currently smoking.  The 05 was a birthday gift from my family and, IMHO, perhaps the most iconic of the Peterson styles.

My pallet is also expanding as I have begun sampling and enjoying various VaPers (Virginia/Perique blends) and English blends (with varying degrees of Latakia).  By far the most tasty are the English blends.  The only problem is they are not as pleasing to the nose of most of my family.  Therefore any English blend is relegated to the "Man Cave".  But hey, anything that gives me an opportunity to smoke in a peaceful situation can't be all bad.  LOL!

However, with all this good news comes bad as well.  I am finding myself increasingly frustrated by the attempts of our government to make this pleasant pass-time of mine into a pseudo-illegal activity.  The FDA will soon regulate pipe tobacco in the same way as they do cigarettes and chew (ignoring the fact that there are VAST differences between the two).  For more information on this I refer you to these articles at PipesMagazine.com (Here and Here).  When this is combined with some of the other liberties that are under attack by well meaning, nannies, i.e. Bloomburg, Obamacare vs. Catholic Bishops, etc., I'm feeling that the little that I can do by voting or writing letters to my Congress is increasingly futile.

I am not one who generally gives up on a fight until the last man falls but I'm looking for suggestions.  Is this just tilting at windmills or is there something that can be done to reverse the tide?  Or is this just a matter where the "little guy" has to offer his blood to grease the cogs of the Government Machine?

If you have solutions let me know.  Otherwise I'll just try to stock my cellar with as much enjoyment as I can afford and prepare for one more liberty to be eliminated from my life.

Brainwashing my Children

(this post was written while smoking my Valeni Contrast filled with Jenuwine's Royal Buttered Rum.)

Last night I had to perform one of the most painful tasks I've ever had to do as a father.  My daughter was assigned to research an article on the dangers of drug use with a focus on tobacco and I needed to help her.  Torn between my desire to have her do well and sabotaging the project by inserting some real science into the propaganda, I had to censor the thoughts running through my mind.  Drug Use?  Tobacco?  My understanding is that tobacco is STILL a legal product.  It is STILL used responsibly by responsible adults.  To place it in the same category as heroin and cocaine is absolutely absurd.

As I asked my daughter what class this was for, she replied that it was part of a an assignment for Drug Week.  "I thought you did that back at the beginning of school", I said.
"We did, daddy, but the are doing it at the beginning of each term"

This is nuts!  I am so sick and tired of the social engineering that goes on in our school system.  Essentially, this MANDITORY organization, who has control of my children 8 hours a day, 5 days a week, spends 4 weeks out of the year telling my daughters that their father is a drug addict because he enjoys a pipe and a drink (yes, alcohol is included as a "drug").  I'm still trying to decide the best course of action but I have officially HAD IT!

Falling in Love

(this post was written while smoking my Aldo Valeni Contrast filled with Jenuwine Royal Buttered Rum.)



As I gaze at my pipe collection, I notice that out of all the briar brands I own there are only two that are represented by more than one pipe.  They are my Aldo Valenis and my Petersons.  And out of these the Petersons are the only ones that I have purchased for myself.

Peterson of Dublin is now edging up on 3 centuries of pipe making.  Formed out of a partnership between the Kapp Bros. and Charles Peterson in 1863, Peterson of Dublin has been making innovations in Pipe making in an industry known more for its traditions than for its advances.  Charles brought with him a design for the now famous Peterson System.  The System is essentially an additional chamber in the shank that allows moisture to be captured and provides a cooler, dryer smoke.  In 1898, Mr. Peterson also patented a new type of bit for the stem which came to be known as the "P-Lip".  The P-Lip directs the smoke toward the roof of the mouth and helps to cut down on "tongue bite" when smoking.

My two Petersons are a Rusticated Kapet #69 and an Aran #999.  Only the Aran has the P-Lip and I LOVE IT!  I recently took my Aran to work with me and have never had so many compliments on what a beautiful pipe it is.  Part of what sets it off is the nickle mount where the stem meets the shank.  I seem to be moving up the ranks with Peterson and I hope that my next one will be in the Celtic Range.  These have a gorgeous sterling silver mount that is etched with Celtic knots.  Can't wait!

A Pipe Smoker's History

(This post was written while smoking my Peterson ARAN bent bulldog with the "P-lip" stem; filled with McClellan's Holiday Spirit 2011)

I was about 11 when my Grandpa Doublestein passed away.  Unfortunately I was pretty self-centered at that time and I can't look back with too many memories of him.  When I knew him he was a fairly old man.  His didn't do a lot of talking but when he did his voice was raspy.  He didn't have any of his own teeth anymore and I remember him slicing corn off the cob so that he could eat it.  I remember the coffee he always had percolating in the kitchen and the way he loved sharing a German Chocolate cake with me when we celebrated our birthday's (I was supposed to be born on his but actually came into the world later in the month).

Much of what I learned about the patriarch of the Doublestein family came much later.  I learned about a hard working farmer who ushered his family through the Great Depression with care.  I learned about a mysterious first marriage to a woman disappeared within a year of the nuptials.  I found out that my grandfather was one of the last Constable's that my hometown of Wayland ever had.  How, late in the evening, he would patrol the business district with his faithful dog, Savage, making sure that all the businesses were locked up tight.

I'm still trying to learn more.

This past Christmas I had a chance to ask my dad about my grandfather's pipe smoking.  I remember my grandpa smoking but I didn't remember what.  The memories I had were of a white haired man, sitting in his easy chair with clouds of fragrant smoke curling around his head.  My dad told me that grandpa Doublestein smoked two different pipes.  His usual was a corn cob pipe.  Dad also remembered him having a smooth, straight pipe.  But the thing I found most interesting was his tobacco choices.  Wild Cherry was smoked on special occasions but the standby was Prince Albert.  For some reason I find that comforting.  Prince Albert just seems like such a solid, old, dignified tobacco to smoke.

My goal this year is to buy a corn cob pipe, load it with Prince Albert and learn just a little more about this man who I barely got to know.  I think I'll like it alot.