The cigar is only a metaphor.
There is a new grandchild in the clan.
Back in the day I enjoyed a cigar far too frequently than I should have. An insurance underwriter I am acquainted-with suggested I consider otherwise.
The last cigar I smoked was following the announcement of my daughter's pregnancy. I enjoyed a splendid and sultry summer evening with a fine, hand-rolled, Dominican. Grown of Cuban seed. With a whiskey.
I entertained all sorts of fantasies.
Our step granddaughter has visited. And with another grandchild there would be more opportunities for visiting grandkids from the gulf coast to spend time here in Tosa and at the farm. There would be extended family to get to know here in town. And camping-out and running with Girlfriend and other dogs in the woods. Maybe even learning to shoot that brand-new 20 ga. H&R youth shotgun stored in the safe.
The following morning the fantasies had vaporized. I had to brush my teeth twice. Did you know you can get a headache from smoking a big-old cigar?
I don't ordinarily take my Blackberry device into meetings while at the day job. But I did today. Late this afternoon I interrupted a meeting to take a call from one of Tosa's own to report that Max Thomas had arrived...
8 pounds, 6 ounces and 21 inches.
My Mississippi son-in-law tells me - he's a hoss!
All is well.
And I'm not smoking any more stinking cigars.
Isn't that a handsome young man?