
A rare corncob-smoking Santa.
A blog about pipes and pipe smoking.


A superstition specific to pipe smoking warns that a pipe should never be lit from a burning lamp or candle, which, according to the French, will provoke a wife to argumentativeness, and possibly even infidelity. Blowing smoke rings is, however, a good omen said to promote the luck of both the smoker and those in the immediate vicinity. Among American Indians, smoking a pipe of peace is an important social ritual and no one must refuse to take a puff if the pipe is offered to them. The ceremony must be done in total silence--if anyone speaks, the pipe must be dropped at once. Disaster will befall anyone who attempts to smoke from it again.Just a little something from email inbox, thanks to Brer.--from Cassell's Dictionary of Superstitions by David Pickering










In 1959 he formed the American Nazi Party. He ran the lecture circuit, and was in high demand, lecturing against non-whites, Jews, and communists (he considered Jews to be communists anyway). He formed alliances with the Ku Klux Klan and other supremacist groups. In 1967 he changed the name of the American Nazi Party to the National Socialist White People's Party (apparently completely missing the irony of claiming to be an opponent of communism while simultaneously calling himself a socialist). He was also a holocaust denier (surprise, surprise).




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Things you can count on...The goodness of the Earth. The coming of Spring. What else? In America, thanks to the Almighty, lots else. Even with total war, even with dozens of daily sacrifices, and extra sweat put into our work--still, lots else.The ad goes on to discuss the situation with briar during the war. There were no ships available, nor was it even safe, to import Mediterranean briar during the war. And thus was born that little stamp with which all pipe smokers are now familiar: "IMPORTED BRIAR." To most this probably only seems to be some odd, nonsensical sales gimmick. After all, all briar is imported.
Good food, for instance--there's lots of it. Good homes, world's best. Freedom to say what we think. Freedom of choice.
And smoking--don't forget that. You can still smoke your favorite Kaywoodie pipe, if you want to.
"Dickon," cried Mother Rigby, "a coal for my pipe!"Thus begins Feathertop by Nathaniel Hawthorne. I recommend you quit wasting time here and go read it forthwith.
The pipe was in the old dame's mouth when she said these words. She had thrust it there after filling it with tobacco, but without stooping to light it at the hearth, where indeed there was no appearance of a fire having been kindled that morning. Forthwith, however, as soon as the order was given, there was an intense red glow out of the bowl of the pipe, and a whiff of smoke came from Mother Rigby's lips. Whence the coal came, and how brought thither by an invisible hand, I have never been able to discover.

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Whenever I pick up my tobacco-pipe,Here is another translation thanks to Olivier at My Pipes Community.
Stuffed with good tobacco
For pleasure and pastime,
It gives me a sad impression -
And leads to the conclusion
That I resemble it in many ways.The pipe was made from clay and earth
And so was I.
One day I will be earth again -
It often falls from the hand
And breaks before you know,
My destiny is the same.The pipe is usually not colored;
It remains white. So therefore,
One day when I am dying
My body will turn pale.
Once buried it becomes black, just like
A pipe that has been used for a long time.When the pipe is lit,
One sees the smoke disappear instantly
In the free air,
Leaving nothing but ashes behind.
The glory of all mankind is consumed
And the body turns to dust.So often it happens while smoking,
Since such is the case,
That the stuffer is not handy,
And instead the finger is used,
Then I wonder when I burn myself,
If the ashes make such pain
How hot will it be in Hades?
From my tobacco I can always
Erect enlightening thoughts.
Therefore, in comfort I smoke
On Land, at sea and at home
My little pipe, with devotion.
Whene'er I take my pipe and stuff itAnd so, for Bach, his pipe was an example for his faith and a tool for his devotion.
And smoke to pass the time away
My thoughts, as I sit there and puff it,
Dwell on a picture sad and grey:
It teaches me that very like
Am I myself unto my pipe.
Like me this pipe, so fragrant burning,
Is made of naught but earthen clay;
To earth I too shall be returning,
And cannot halt my slow decay.
My well used pipe, now cracked and broken,
Of mortal life is but a token.
No stain, the pipe's hue yet doth darken;
It remains white. Thus do I know
That when to death's call I must harken
My body, too, all pale will grow.
To black beneath the sod 'twill turn,
Likewise the pipe, if oft it burn.
Or when the pipe is fairly glowing,
Behold then instantaneously,
The smoke off into thin air going,
'Til naught but ash is left to see.
Man's fame likewise away will burn
And unto dust his body turn.
How oft it happens when one's smoking,
The tamper's missing from it's shelf,
And one goes with one's finger poking
Into the bowl and burns oneself.
If in the pipe such pain doth dwell
How hot must be the pains of Hell!
Thus oer my pipe in contemplation
Of such things - I can constantly
Indulge in fruitful meditation,
And so, puffing contentedly,
On land, at sea, at home, abroad,
I smoke my pipe and worship God.
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