I should have started with something better but I have a confession to make.
I may have squeezed in a cigar earlier this year on a surprisingly warm day that sometimes appears in Memphis during January, because our weather is controlled by Sibyl. If I did I can’t recall it. Sunday we had glorious warmth. Hudson joined me and that was nice. But I must confess I knew he wouldn’t finish. Last fall he began finishing fine cigars as completely as Frank the Hippie Pope understands theology. Which is to say, vaguely. These days I am happy to see if he makes it halfway through. Hence why I chintzed out on the cigar. Factory smokes are solid but no where near the Undercown I should have been smoking.
Especially in that rain storm. Cigars in a storm are a rare treat. N.D. Wilson tells the story of a college professor he had who would marvel at the majesty of God during thunder storms, cigar in hand.
Tomorrow I have a smoke date with Mr. Jack, the elderly man on my street who was literally raised in a cigar shop. But mostly I am just happy that cigar weather has returned.