Licking the Spoon

Ever since smoking my first joint in the 1960s, I have always enjoyed ingesting Pot, Hooch, the Doob, in all of its various choices and manifestations. 

Smoking Pot in pipes, hookas, bongs, waterpipes, rolled joints, rolled blunts and eating it all have their individual appeals. Each delivery system seems to bring with it a differing kind of high. 

The majority of the time, I smoke joints or blunts. Only over the last five years have I begun to eat it on a semi regular basis.

Very rarely over the last 60 years or so, have I turned my back on an opportunity to get high. A chance encounter with an old friend, spark up a doob dude. Some stranger passes you a joint, take a pull and pass it on. That has been the pot experience I have tried to maintain these past many years. 

My first experience eating  cannabis was not the pleasant experience I had imagined it would be. All the hip Freaks said the best highs came from eating it. Brownies were the popular vehicle to use. In 1970-71, I shared rented townhouse off Perring Parkway in Towson, Maryland. My roommates, Bean, Bebop and I decided it was time to try marijuana brownies.

We sifted out all the seeds we had accumulated from the few pounds of pot we had bought over the previous months and ground the stems up. With each grind, we removed as much of the fur and chaff as possible. When we had the pile of pot powder to a point we thought might be edible, we took all of it and mixed it into 2 or 3 store bought brownie mixes.

By that time in our college lives, we were all decent cooks and the brownies came out perfect. After they had cooled, Bean cut them up into squares. I will always remember the shock of biting into that first brownie. I looked at Bean and Bebop and their faces looked like I felt. These were the worst brownies I had ever eaten. They were sweet and all, but it was like eating small hay bales. The three of us, with some serious help from milk out of the fridge, managed to eat that first one. 

Before we ate any more, we discussed just how many we thought we would need to eat to get a buzz. At this point I am sure none of us wanted to eat many more. Bean and Bebop decided they could handle one more and then wait to see what happened. Because I was always the smartest one of the trio, I decided it would take more than two, so I ate two more for a running total of three.

A half an hour later, we still had not felt the buzz we were sure was coming. BeBop said he was done and he went upstairs. Bean decided he could handle one more. Again, because I was the smartest one, I ate two more for a total of 5. After an hour, neither Bean nor I thought we were feeling any buzz. Bean said he was done and rolled a joint. I ate one more because well, I was the smartest one of the three of us.

Okay. More minutes pass. Bean says he thinks he is feeling the pot, but because he smoked part of a joint, he is not sure if it was the brownies or the joint. I am sure I am not getting off, but the thought of another mini hay bale in my mouth was too much. I told Bean to pass the joint. Just as I finished exhaling that first toke, the brownies kicked in.

I do not remember anything of substance from that moment until about 30 hours later when I woke up on my bed with no clothes on except my shoes and suffering the worse case of desert mouth I can remember ever having. My stoned condition continued into the next day, but at least I could function. Bean said I had slept for over 24 hours.

I never ate Pot brownies again until I began baking them for my wife in 2017 when she was going through chemotherapy. This time I did it right. I extracted Hash oil out of some of my bud and came up with a recipe that has no obnoxious taste and is easy to properly dose as I cut the brownies into 10 gram pieces. BA uses one or one and a half to help her sleep. Me, because I still ingest Pot for fun, I eat four to get a good bake on and still have an ability to function. Any more than 4 and it is a crap shoot whether I can function or become a mumbling fool.

Which brings me to the crap shoot that is licking the bowl and spoon after putting the two batches of brownies in the oven. There are no conveniently separated 10 gram pieces to pick just the right number for a predictable result. No, licking the bowl means my day from that point on may or may not be mine to control. 

I actually started this post while the brownies baked and just after licking the bowl. I left entirely too much mix in the bowl. Mistake? Hmm...... Maybe, maybe not. All I know is I lost the rest of the day. Instead of tying up various loose ends, I created new ones to confuse my next day with. 

No worries. Retirement is all about being free to do nothing and being happy with the result. 

Keep it 'tween the ditches ...................................

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I have been waiting for an excuse to use this song for a post. "California Sober" by Billy Strings and Willie Nelson. The song has it all, great pickin, great grinnin and the harmony is something special. Play it loud and stomp your feet.