Ritual

Smoking a cigar is a private ritual. This ritual brings me peace and helps me calm the devils in my head, at least for that thirty minutes that I pace my back deck. My cigar of choice is a CAO L’Anniversaire Maduro Belicoso. It’s dark brown and spicy with a nice light draw.

A ruby port is drawn filling the first third of a brandy glass, then walk the stairs to where my humidor is kept next to my bed. I have a nice cutter that my son gave me for Christmas that I use to take off the foot. I tend to overcut the opening leaving very little of the end cap which eventually falls off as the cigar gets short.

Back to the deck where a Zippo ‘Blue’ clicks with open that familiar sound that my uncles world war two Zippos had, but being butane, burns a bright blue flame and a soft roar. I toast about a quarter inch of the end and light. The first draws are empty, but soon the full flavor of the chocolaty maduro fills my mouth and I begin to pace, glass in hand between the ring finger and pinky of my left hand. A sip of the port and this is peace. The strong smell of the smoke chases intruders from disruption of my thoughts. There are thoughts of work and the lives friends, my sister and others… there are chores and projects floating in my head, but best of all are the dreams … dreams of how life can (and hopefully will) be.

The smoke circles my head like a holy incense as the cigar gets short and the glass empty. The ritual comes to a close for another day. Stubbing out the remains with a quick toss into the ivy, I introspectively, but thankfully, carry the glass back inside to the pile of dirty dishes and stack of bills. Reality sets back in, the peace abates… and this days ritual is done.