The check-in line at the Miami International Airport was already stretching out at 11 A.M. for a 3 P.M. flight. Everyone seemed to have two or three pushcarts filled with luggage, boxes of stereo equipment and at least one bag wrapped in fluorescent green plastic wrap, a gaudy attempt at making it a little more difficult for someone to rifle through the contents.
The Las Vegas Big Smoke this past weekend reminded me of one of the enduring realities of being a cigar smoker. There is a huge community of us. And, it seems that everyone experiences our hobby, or passion—however you prefer to describe it—in much the same way. We have a lot like-minded folks out there who revel in the camaraderie that comes with a fine hand-rolled cigar.
The Big Dipper tilted across the western sky. A dazzling combo of Jupiter and Uranus had risen high in the east. And, about 10 men, nine Danes and an American (yours truly), were lighting up cigars after a night of revelry celebrating one of the Danes’ 25th wedding anniversary. The outdoor air at 1 a.m. was crisp, but apparently warm by early September standards in Denmark because some of the men were in shirtsleeves; the American was shivering, still in his sports coat and long-sleeved shirt.
I’m getting ready to re-stock my personal cigar inventory. I’ve been fortunate in that most of the cigars I smoke are at work, and supplied as part of our tasting reports. But you’ve all seen my humidor at home. It’s got a mix of cigars from the Dominican Republic, Nicaragua and Cuba. There’s also a drawer full of “assorted” cigars, most of which are not my favorite smokes, but my friends appreciate getting them on the golf course, or as part of one of our after-dinner rituals at my house.
Our faithful companion, Chloe, a.k.a. Clos Vougeot, left this world about three weeks ago. I haven’t been able to sit down to write this farewell until this week. The emotions were just too raw and too painful, but with a little passage of time, the pain is a little less acute. I’m slowly coming around to a place where I can remember her presence with a deep fondness without tears coming to my eyes. And, I can appreciate that the loneliness my wife and I feel without her around is testimony to how much we loved her and how much a part of our lives she was every day.
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