old enough

“I want to be an old lady sitting on my front porch and smoking a pipe.” I’ve said this for probably decades now. My husband has heard me say it, periodically, over the years. I say it when I’m overwhelmed by the stresses of life as we know it. I say it when I am weary of myself—weary of my inadequacies, of my impatience, of my doings of the things I do not want to do … weary of trying so hard and failing so often. 

I also tend to bemoan the fact that I used to own a fine ladies’ pipe, purchased for me by my college roomies after they no doubt tired of me tasting their fun tobacco varieties each time they sat down with their own pipes.

Last night my husband mentioned that he had found what looked like a reasonable way to make your own bamboo pipes. My mouth dropped open at the idea, for we have plenty of that around. “Oh wow-really? You think you could!?!?” I told him that would be the best birthday present ever. Especially if it was something that wouldn’t require any extra supplies and wouldn’t be too much work. He asked me what sort of tobacco I would want. I told him I didn’t know but could poke around – asked him to give me advance notice and I’d look around for some. And yes, that’s normal for us (I don’t like surprises so am quite happy purchasing my own gifts 😂)

Today (yes, after having said conversation late last night), while I was out trying to squeeze 10 billion to-dos into a top-short weekend, Peter texted me. “Get yourself some tobacco.”

This is what was on the dining room table when I got home. Supplies? Bamboo. A drill. And a whittling knife. That’s it.

Now I need to figure out the tobacco part.

“When I am an old woman, I shall …smoke a pipe?”

*old equating to 41 years old

**my ability to smoke is pretty lightweight, probably equating to a half a pipe’s worth, perhaps once a week 😁