HOW SWEET IT WAS

I visited a tobacconist’s shop today. An upscale shop. In an upscale city.

I had been there one year ago, almost to the day to buy a cigar humidor for my son.

I loved the visit then. I loved this one even more.

The street was festive. It was busy, crowded. Buildings were being remodeled; traffic was gridlock; foot traffic was heavy. Folks were hurrying this way and that.

It was like a scene out of a Christmas card.

Silver bells, silver bells, its Christmas time in the city.

The shop is tiny, tucked between somewhat larger establishments. Its window is small- paned, many of the panes painted, I think, in a soft green. The door is heavy, I think wood. I am not sure.

And I smelled the shop before I opened the door. Someone must have just left before I was on the stoop.

And it was not the smell of cigarette tobacco. No, it was premium cigar smoke, fresh cigar smoke, doubtless enhanced by fresh air circulating and also by years and years of soaking into the woods and fabrics of the shop.

And the pipes in boxes on the wall. And all the tobaccos. And the pouches. And the grand cigar humidor.

And the very congenial proprietor. Very helpful. Very professional. He was assisted by a most attractive young lady. And by a senior gentleman dusting shelves and arranging stock.

In the back of the shop was the humidor to one side. On the other side was a smoking lounge, very much in use. But the aromas were those of cigar leaf.

I was only there for half an hour, but it was long enough for the smoke to penetrate the clothes I was wearing. I could smell the shop all the way home.

Why is it that something as enjoyable as a good cigar is not good for us?

When I was younger and more ignorant and feeling invulnerable, I would go into such establishments, there were more of them then, buy my cigar or pipe tobacco, and happily go on my way, burning leaf as I went.

I thought how sweet it was.

When we were children, we thought as children.

I hope to return next year on a similar mission.

How sweet it was.