It's easy to quit smoking. I've done it hundreds of times. Mark Twain

.

There were some comments made about the Diane Arbus photo

I posted titled Two Women at the Automat and the fact that they

both had cigarettes in their hands, a rare thing today. Fortunately,

smoking is not the fashion rage it once was. I loved "smoking"

candy cigarettes when I was about five. They came in those cute

little real cigarette style boxes. I had all the sexy, glamorous hand

motions down to a tee, which made my grandmother extremely

mad. I'll have to confess I did smoke my first cigar last year, one

of those cute little Irish Cream numbers, just for fun, of course.

.

Some of the most romantic movie scenes are built around the

lighting of cigarettes. Two that immediately come to mind are Bette

Davis and Paul Henreid in Now Voyager and Roger Livesey and

Wendy Hiller in I Know Where I'm Going. I love when Livesey and

Hiller stretch out the windows for a light and their hands accidentally

touch. Sigh. How fun is Gloria Swanson's quirky finger cigarette

holder in Sunset Boulevard? ((Max!!)) And I adore the easy going

Joseph Cotten puffing his enchanting trade mark smoke rings in each

of his films. But, putting all the glamor aside, it is quite sad that many

of these stars, as well as those we knew who were smokers of that

generation, had their lives diminished by so many years as a result.

I am very happy to say that I never picked up the habit, glamor or not.

There are many that I miss,

having sent my last one out a car window

sparking along the road one night, years ago.

The heralded ones, of course:

after sex, the two glowing tips

now the lights of a single ship;

at the end of a long dinner

with more wine to come

and a smoke ring coasting into the chandelier;

or on a white beach,

holding one with fingers still wet from a swim.

How bittersweet these punctuations

of flame and gesture;

but the best were on those mornings

when I would have a little something going

in the typewriter,

the sun bright in the windows,

maybe some Berlioz on in the background.

I would go into the kitchen for coffee

and on the way back to the page,

curled in its roller,

I would light one up and feel

its dry rush mix with the dark taste of coffee.

Then I would be my own locomotive,

trailing behind me as I returned to work

little puffs of smoke,

indicators of progress,

signs of industry and thought,

the signal that told the nineteenth century

it was moving forward.

That was the best cigarette,

when I would steam into the study

full of vaporous hope

and stand there,

the big headlamp of my face

pointed down at all the words in parallel lines.

Billy Collins

"The Best Cigarette"

Sailing Alone Around the Room