I couldn't get to the tobacco exchange fast enough yesterday! I was really excited that the new cigar store was in our area, not a far drive, and small enough to be intimate, but large enough to have a good selection. I couldn't have been happier with the two guys running the shop; both had experience in their products, both were helpful, both were professional, and even made suggestions when I told them I was needing a good fat older style cigar for researching the main character (Nick Posh) for my new murder thriller. Oh, the men wanted to hear all about it, and they were searching in their store room for the best sample of what would be smoked (albeit probably a special occasion) by a former Chicago detective in the 1930's; one with an axe to grind.
The boys came up with a Dominican Republic cigar, a Maduro make by Le Galera. It's hand rolled, fat, dark, long enough to be impressive, but not too long, and it was tastefully expensive, but not out of reach for the paygrade of my detective. I think I paid $8.00 for it, so it would have been about fifty cents back in the day. Not bad. Lady Liberty would have been walking across the coin carrying an armful of flowers, a majestic bald eagle spread across the reverse side of the coin. Today, a mint condition coin of that sort would bring in over $25,000.00 to the right holder. Funny how that works. I bought the cigar with a big smile on my face, and looked forward to the moonrise so I could begin my research project. I was hoping my son could join me, but he was otherwise busy; nevertheless, I ended up buying him a nice 4-pack of cigars from various locations around the Caribbean. He'll like that.
About 9:30 p.m. or so I decided it was dark enough and late enough to imbibe on the festive adventure of doing my stogie sucking research for the new book. Having smoked many a machine made cigar in the past, and maybe one or two hand rolled club cigars, I felt I was pretty cool for deciding to up my game for the sake of research. I knew full well that I wasn't going to make a habit out of buying expensive cigars; I only smoke one or two a year for Pyrate Nite usually, and most of the time, well, yeah, every time I can remember, it's been a cheap thin grape flavored trick from 7-11; if I had to be honest about it. This was the first "real" cigar I'd smoked in more than 35 years -- before I had kids, I can say that. I don't remember smoking anything worth anything after I gave birth. I was too strapped for cash most of the time.
Because I'm ME and that way, I misplaced my matches, and had to use a fire-clicker thingy-ma-bob that you use to start fireplaces with, and you know that didn't fare well outside in the Oklahoma wind. I held the cigar clenched in my teeth and used both hands to light and guard the flame. I was there on the balcony of my apartment sucking and sucking trying to get the damn stogie to light. It wasn't easy, and it wasn't fast. The really expensive cigars are fatter, denser, and take a bit longer to light apparently. I really had sore cheeks after finally achieving my goal - - but damn it, I got the thing lit! There I was actually smoking a real cigar and having imaginative thoughts of being a 1930s style former detective on the balcony of a theatre in Chicago overlooking the city just wondering where the bad guy could be hiding. I had followed him this far. I could have made a misstep, but I felt as if he was close enough to bite. That's when the cigar went out on me! WHAT? How did that happen?
Back to the kitchen to try something new. I took the clicker thing and lit a candle, took the candle outside with me and lit my cigar again - much better; more success, I learned something. Oh wait, I also learned that I smoke with my left hand. I guess I knew that, but I wasn't paying attention to it, but it's true. I also hold my phone to my left ear, and that started my thinking gears up again; I was born left handed. Nick Posh may be left handed. I think he should be. It makes more sense to me now, and it explains why the guy he killed with one blow - - oh, I can't tell you that, nevermind. Read the book!
So, I'm on the balcony, cigar in hand, candle blown out by the wind, dog not happy with the smells and seeing her person pacing and pretending. Dogs don't pretend well, I also learned that. About six to eight minutes into my second round of lighting and puffing I began feeling sick to my stomach really, and then my head decided it needed to fall off my shoulders and over the balcony. I think I had the wherewithal to stub the cigar on a brick and make it into the house without too much trouble, but my daughter had to let the dog in from outside, I hadn't kept the door open for her. Laura saw me make a bee-line for my bed and couldn't figure it out - - she wasn't alone, I couldn't figure it out either, but the bed just seemed like the more logical place to go.
SWEAT!!! Oh my goodness, I began sweating. I couldn't open my eyes for fear of falling off the balcony (and I was laying prone on the bed at the time) and I couldn't breathe well either. I'm not sure if I was having a hard time breathing or if my heart had decided to shake up the situation and give me another reason to speak to Jesus. Jesus and I talk all the time, but this was one of those really fast and furious favor asking times; He gets me. I was all over my bed, spread out in four directions for optimal cooling, begging Laura to turn on my fan, turn out the light, and find me a wet washcloth - - now would be great! She was not only dutiful of course, but she was chiding and scolding at the same time; did I raise her correctly, or what? I think she said all the things I would have said to her if the roles were reversed; she'll be fine without me. I know this. Me? I wasn't fine with me at that point. Nope.
Throughout the night and into the dawn I knew I was going to have to crawl my way to the bathroom at some point. I just wondered if my head would come with me or if I needed to leave it in the bed where it was. I opted for taking it with me, but it and I argued the entire 16 feet to the bathroom - - and the entire 16 feet back to the bed. My head won the argument; just incase you were wondering. I spent the next 11 hours crashed and wracked up in my sweat-soaked sheets trying to make heads or tails out of why it was that I thought I was OK smoking an intense cigar in the first place. This morning was spent doing more research, but not necessarily for the novel, though I may have to write the information I found in another blog as a public service announcement. Apparently, (and everyone knew this but me) you can't smoke a fat new hand-rolled expensive dense cigar quickly. You're not supposed to inhale of course, and you're not supposed to hold the smoke in too long -- trifecta! I suck. I did all three and I ended up up-ended. So you know.
When I finally gathered enough strength to crawl-walk to the bathroom again, I sat in the shower for six to eight minutes researching what it feels like to not be able to reach the faucet turning thingies to make your shower a bit more enjoyable. I laid there wondering if I could die of cold water hitting my body and my face. I didn't die. I know now that you won't die from that, but it would be a rather bad way to end such an incredibly interesting life. I managed to dry off, dress, call my other daughter, the smoker, and get laughed at from yet another kid. I called my son only to see if boys treated their mothers differently, better than girls - - they do. My son told me in his most military commanding way that drinking water will assure my restoration of health. He told me that if I decided to smoke the rest of the cigar to be sure and take it easy, slow things down, maybe let it burn more than I puff. He also told me that if I begin to feel dizzy, stop immediately, and lay down. At least I know I was on the right track last night - - I just waited a bit too long, that's all.
OK, well, that's my cigar smoking, stogie-killing story for you! Hope I've managed to both entertain and explain. I want the world to know that cigars are to be both appreciated and respected....and in some people's cases, like my own, they should be looked at and left right where they are. Not in my hand, not lit, not in my mouth, not puffed. They should be in movies, in books, in fantasies, where they can't do much harm.
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